


Mix Beer With Liquor And You Will Get Sicker

by LockedBox



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse and Neglect of Historical Accuracy, Alcohol, Animal Death, Aspergers, Body Dysphoria, Cats: the Mascots of Loneliness, Childhood Trauma, Explicit Sexual Content, Eye Trauma, From Sex to Love, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Just a Lot of Issues in General, Lack of Communication, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Original Fiction, Pining, References to Sex While Mutually Intoxicated, Romance, Scotomaphobia, Self-Esteem Issues, UST, Victorian setting, What happened last night?, emotional issues, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 192,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LockedBox/pseuds/LockedBox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lauchlan led a simple life, a comfortable one, and all things considered he was quite lucky. He had steady work, a roof over his head, food on his plate, a family who loved him, if from a distance, and good company to keep himself in. </p><p>He had his good days and his bad days, of course, everyone did, and if one outnumbered the other, well, such was life. He thought he was satisfied with his lot, but, all it took was one stag night, and a few too many drinks addling his brain for it all to come crashing down around his ears.</p><p>He didn’t know what drove him to it, didn’t know what he’d do, didn’t know what he’d <i>done</i>. All he knew was that he’d woken up in a strange bed, with a stranger man curled against his side, bruises like handprints on his hips, and the sinking realization that what he’d done could never be taken back, never undone.</p><p>He never thought he was the sort of man who would do such a thing. Never thought himself capable of it. He never thought he’d come to like it. Never would have believed he’d come to love him. </p><p>Turns out, there were a lot of things he’d never thought before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Can of Worms

**Author's Note:**

> MBWLAYWGS now has a [TVTropes Page.](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Literature/MixBeerWithLiquorAndYouWillGetSicker)

It felt like an elephant and a rhinoceros were dancing the fandango on his head. No, not a mere pair, a whole _herd_ of elephants and rhinos.

 

They thumped incessantly against his skull, an unrelenting drumbeat on his brain. Blearily, Lauchlan struggled to recount just how drunk he’d been to warrant this, but the fandango dancers left little room in his pounding head for recollection.

Lauchlan delicately cracked his good eye open to survey the waking world, but the bright light of the room transformed the fandango into a stampede. He hastily screwed his eye shut tight and turned away from the source of light, only to smack his nose into something. A hair-covered something, much like a human head. _Christ._

 

He struggled desperately to calm the panic that was painfully building in his already thumping skull, rationalizing that it could just as easily be his own cat curled up beside him, or some other animal. It couldn’t be though, the texture was different and the smell wasn’t nearly unpleasant enough to belong to his cat. He breathed, struggling to calm himself and restore his capacity to think. The hair felt human enough against his face, if a bit greasy, and had a distinctive smell that was almost teasing in its familiarity. Lauchlan sniffed deeply and held it in his nose, struggling to give a name to the pungent aroma. It smelt of herbs, alcohol, woodsmoke and there was something else that was bitter and nutty which Lauchlan couldn’t identify.

 

Curiously Lauchlan turned his head to the other side and sniffed. The smell was still there, soaked into the linens perhaps. The smell was oddly soothing, though Lauchlan could say why for the life of him. He breathed it in deeply as he slowly processed the information, his head complaining all the way. It wasn’t the scent of his own home, that much was certain, nor was it the scent of the pub he’d visited, nor his workplace, nor anywhere else in recent memory. It was actually quite crisp and medicinal in nature, though the dried sweat and grime clinging to his naked body made an infirmary impossible. At the thought of medicines, a revelation forced Lauchlan’s reeling head into another spin of discomfort as he managed to place the smell as that of an apothecary. He mulled over the revelation for a moment, not knowing quite what to do with it.

 

There was only one apothecary he visited with any regularity. He thought of the wooden panelling of the place, the smell of the tinctures and liniments, and the eternally scowling widow who ran it. Why on earth would he smell of that place? He hadn’t needed anything, and it was very out of the way of the journey to and from the pub. It didn’t explain why there was something inexplicably similar to a warm body curled up next to him either, though, come to think of it, there had been rumours going around that the apothecarist had been in need of money after her husband passed. He’d never stooped so low to entertain the rumours, but as he laid in a foreign bed stinking of the shop she ran an unpleasant thought wormed its way into his brain. The fandango dancers thumped as the thought swirled round, and he thought he was going to be ill. He’d never consider such a thing in all his life, and the horror builded in the back of his brain, pulsing to the beat of the fandango.

 

 

Lauchlan braved the burning light of the room to examine his bed partner, horror and the desire to be ill fuelling his courage. He squinted, and the room slowly swam into focus. He could see the crown of a woman’s head curled up against his shoulder. Her face was obscured by the pillows of the unfamiliar bed and by Lauchlan’s own body, which the little woman had curled into, her face tucked under Lauchlan’s right arm and shoulder. Her hair was still visible, though. It was short for a woman, and black. Not the old apothecarist then. _Thank God_. But, that hardly told him who this was or how he ended up in a bed with her.

 

Lauchlan couldn’t remember meeting any women at the celebration of the night before. He hadn’t even chatted to the overworked barmaids, not that he’d ever have the nerve to. Even if he had done after a liberal dose of dutch courage, he’d didn’t think he’d just tumble into bed with anyone. He was no saint but he wasn’t the kind of man who’d do that sort of thing without getting acquainted first. It may be rather foolish for a man of his social standing to try and court a woman like a gentleman, which was well and truly beyond his means, but he would have tried at the very least. It was only decent after all. He couldn’t even remember the woman’s name. In fact, he could remember next to nothing of the celebration at all. His last clear memory was his friend Jasper and a number of his acquaintances strong-arming him into drinking more and more beer. He had he’d had quite a few porters, if his memory served, but any attempts to probe deeper into the events of the night before were met with a painful resistance from his headache and the dancers.

 

Lauchlan tried to gently shift away from his her face so that he could get a better look at her, but as he wiggled away the pillows sunk down beneath him, and her face shifted with him, remaining stubbornly nestled in the hollow between shoulder and mattress. He quickly found himself pressed against the wall, the narrow bed barely big enough to hold the two of them, and now he’d moved it was dedicated almost entirely to her. He sighed, the unfamiliar linens scratching against his shoulder where the woman was nuzzling him. He shrugged his shoulder uncomfortably, trying to dislodge the rough patch of linen from his arm, but the movement only worsened the irritation. The woman snorted in her sleep, a huff of warm air dissipating over his skin, and he stilled instantly. The last thing he wanted was to wake her. There were questions he didn’t want to ask and answers he’d rather not hear. He pushed the irritation to the back of his mind and cast his good eye around the room in an attempt to distract himself.

 

It was small and had no wallpaper, but whoever owned the room had done their best to make it tidy and presentable. The wall plaster, which had taken many different shades over the years, had been sanded back to show smooth, yellowed whorls of patchwork. Old woollen drapes that had been mended many times over framed the single window. The furniture was mismatched and much seemed to have been salvaged and repaired over time. There was a large wardrobe and a desk covered with strange alchemical apparatus. Two old winged back chairs that had been torn and then restuffed and repaired both sat in front of a small fireplace which still contained the glowing embers of a fire, and between them was a low, odd legged table that held an empty liquor bottle.

 

Dozens of bundles of herbs and roots were hanging from a stand on the mantle in varying stages of desiccation and there were jars of powders and other strange substances set on the hearthstone. The bed was tucked into the room’s corner with a stool acting as a bedside table, holding a blackened oil lamp and an array of small jars, stacked on top of each other.

 

Lauchlan felt even more disorientated now than he had been before. It was a small apartment if the furnishings was anything to go by, and most of the homes nearby were built on identical plans, plans that this room did not adhere to. He had been drinking at his local pub, not two streets from his own home, so by rights he should have either found his way home, or ended up spending the night on the ropes in one of the rooms. There was no reason for his to have ventured out of the relative safety of his local. It made no sense. Nothing did.

 

Idly he wondered what exactly he and the lady had done, and panic ricocheted up his spine when he realised the implications. He’d likely slept with her, no lady would share a bed with a man otherwise, and if she was in the family way, well, he only had one option. He’d have to marry her. It would be the only decent thing to do, but he didn’t even know the woman! What if she despised him? He wasn’t so hopelessly romantic to believe that all marriages were faultless but he had always imagined he’d get the chance to court the woman he’d marry, to fall in love with her, or at least to make a friend of her! This was too much.

 

He flinched to the side in a hopeless bid to escape, his head knocking against the wall in a jostling reminder that he was essentially trapped there. He repressed a panicked squirm, taking deep breaths in through his mouth and out through his nose.

 

The irritating scratch against his shoulder swam to the surface of his consciousness again, niggling away in a helpful distraction.

 

Lauchlan damned it, and gave in to the irritant, if he was going to have a personal crisis then he may as well have it in comfort. He gently reached a hand in between his shoulder and the girl’s cheek, hoping to hook the offending scrap of linen out without disturbing her. His questing fingers squirmed downwards as gently as he could, pressed between the relatively soft flesh of his arm and hard plane of her cheek bones. He managed to hook his fingertips around the annoyance, it was oddly firm and solid beneath his touch, and so close to the mystery girl’s mouth that he could feel her breath ghosting over his palm. He gave it a tug, gently at first and then more firmly when it refused to move. With a little effort he managed to slowly draw it up, though it seemed to bother the girl, drawing her face up with it. After moving only an inch, she grunted and shook Lauchlan’s finger free, burrowing her face back in to the pillow and returning the scratching thing to its place against his shoulder.

 

Lauchlan shifted uncomfortably, the irritation against his shoulder joined by a familiar pressure in his belly. The need to care for his bodily functions was not something he wanted to deal with right now, but that didn’t make it any less urgent.

 

Lauchlan sighed. He couldn’t dither like this forever. He was going to have to wake her up, regardless of what he wanted. He’d just have to speak with her and hope they could reach some kind of understanding, hopefully one where she told him that nothing had happened between the two of them to begin with, though he doubted he’d have had that sort of luck. After a moment of indecision Lauchlan began to tenderly pet her hair, sweeping the chaotic black curls back behind her ear. When she still refused to stir, he shifted his hand downwards to stroke her cheek with his thumb. A rough, stubbly cheek.

 

_The woman had bloody stubble!_

 

Lauchlan flung back the blankets to reveal a very male body snuggled into his own. A very naked male body.

 

As the fandango began anew Lauchlan whimpered and wearily collapsed into the pillows, his panic gutted by the return of his stabbing headache. He had known that drink made his judgement skewed. He had been warned of that over and over again. He had shrugged it off and wondered what the worst could possibly be. Jasper would stop him from making a fool of himself and the at worst, he would have to deal with was a nasty headache the morning after, and it was Sunday, so all he’d have to do was sleep a little longer than usual before going back to work on Monday. But now here he was with the grandmother of all headaches, no idea where he was and in bed with another man!

 

Well, at least there would be no baby.

 

He stared at the man, aghast and morbidly fascinated all at once. He was short, a modest five feet or so that seemed tiny curled against Lauchlan's side, and he was ridiculously hairy. He had a veritable forest of dark hair covering his arms and legs and the hair on his back was disgusting. It wasn’t particularly thick there, granted, but the darkness of it stood out against pale skin that could have benefited from a few hours of daylight. He was stocky too, a trait that Lauchlan had never imagined in a partner. He’d always visualised someone slender and supple that he could wrap his arms around and squeeze tight, the complete opposite of the other man’s brick-like build.

 

The man was beginning to develop gooseflesh in the morning chill, his naked form missing the blankets immediately. The cool air was soothing to Lauchlan’s aching head, and as the fandango dancers began to cease their pounding on his skull, Lauchlan began to rationalise the situation: The sooner he was home, the sooner he could pretend that this hadn’t happened.

 

It was cowardly, he knew, but he didn’t want to comprehend the consequences if this were reality.

 

Gently, inch by inch, Lauchlan managed to work his way free of the man’s tangled limbs. He clambered up onto his knees and crawled toward the foot of the bed. Just as he was almost free he caught one of his feet in the tangle of linens on the bed’s edge and tumbled to the ground, landing with a muffled thump thanks to a fluffy sheepskin rug that broke his fall. He shot to his feet, the motion playing havoc with his head and prayed that his disgraceful escape hadn’t woken the man up. It hadn’t. Lauchlan took a good look at the man’s face for the first time and queasily questioned why, of all men, he’d woken up with this man. The man wasn’t particularly unsightly, but neither could he be considered attractive or even average. His face was square set with a strong jaw and high cheekbones, and he had an aquiline nose and full cheeks covered in dark stubble, bushy sideburns long out of fashion and a thick, short goatee that framed a thin pair of lips.

 

The man was shivering now, so Lauchlan reached over him and took hold of the blankets, intending to cover him up and get out of there as quickly as possible. Or, at least, it had been before Lauchlan caught sight of the mystery man’s behind. It was nice enough, he seemed fit and it wasn’t hairy like the rest of him, but that wasn’t why Lauchlan’s head was reeling as he stared at it. No, that was rather that on each cheek there were two near identical bruises. Two near identical _hand-shaped_ bruises. There were bruises on his hips too, they were dark and painful looking things that tinted his pale skin black and blue. Those, those had to have been put there by his own hands, of that there was no doubt. He must have gripped the man there as they… well, as he had… Lauchlan’s hazy mind spat a memory of the night before out at him. It was fuzzy but Lauchlan could remember squeezing soft flesh hard between his hands. Marvelling hungrily at the perfect round muscles before lifting and carrying, reaching in between, teasing and pawing and taking what he’d found there. He remembered grasping at those hips and yanking them close as he drove himself forwards into hot, slick pleasure. He remembered crying out with gasping breaths as the body around him squirmed and heaved, making him feel weak, hot and so desperately _hungry_.

 

“God…” Lauchlan gasped, completely floored by the memories of the passionate night before.

 

Lauchlan glanced down at mystery man’s rear again. The bruises there must have been left by his hands as he had, well, as they had fucked. Any other word would be too delicate to describe it. He swallowed thickly, helpless to fight the hot flush that crept up to his face. Surely he wouldn’t have hurt the man, had he?

 

He’d only had one lover before, a woman named Ida. Ida was small, supple and lithe and she was endearing and kind, everything that Lauchlan had adored in a woman. Their courtship had been a brief one, but he’d never been so happy before, or since. She’d been everything he’d wanted, everything he was sure he’d never have. One night Ida had simply appeared on his doorstep and pleaded with him, announcing that she could not care less about what her family, society or the rest of the world thought, because tonight she simply wanted she and him to exist in a world of their own making. Against such powers of persuasion, Lauchlan could do nothing short of taking her into his arms and bowing to her every whim. But when they had laid together in his bed, when he had felt as if he was flying and falling all at once and she was close to him, hot and flushed and demanding. When he had stripped their clothing away, when she saw him as he was, bared to her and her to him, she lost her surety.

 

“You’re going to have to be gentle with me,” she had said to him, suddenly becoming so worried, so nervous and flushing red to the roots of her hair.

 

And Lauchlan had been gentle with her, as gentle as he knew how at any rate, but she had cried and cringed and trembled all the way through the act, and he had felt, not repulsed, but, offput, certainly. It had not been a satisfying experience for either of them and Ida was convinced that he had done it on purpose.

 

“You were so selfish, all charm and sweetness until your trousers came down, you tricked me! You lied to me!” she had spat in her anger, and no matter what he did to try to appease her, to apologise to her, to atone for everything he had done, she simply hadn’t been interested in his company any longer. Leaving Lauchlan devastated and more alone than he’d ever been.

 

But, the one thing that had stuck out of the whole ill-fated act of passion was how very fragile Ida was. When he had taken her she had felt wonderful around him, but she had cried for him to stop, to be slow, to be gentle and so he had been those things, but it wasn’t enough. And all the while he laid their wondering when, if ever, he was meant to feel, anything, really. It wasn’t unpleasant, as it seemed to be for Ida, but, it was just, wet, and warm, and not much else. He knew it was supposed to be better than that, but, he didn’t know what he could possibly do. He’d tried, but, it seemed to only cause the both of them pain. He knew it was supposed to be better, knew it was meant to be good, but he didn’t know what he’d done so wrong, wondered if there was just something wrong with him, and now he knew. It was fuzzy but he knew he had taken this man and buggered him until he was bruised and bleeding and it had felt so good that it was positively obscene.

 

Lauchlan swallowed thickly, the memories making him aroused and disgusted in equal measure, and he wondered if he were some kind of sadist. It was a very frightening thought. But this man wasn’t Ida, he didn’t seem to be broken, merely battered. But then again, the body of a man was very different from that of a woman, which was perfectly clear from where Lauchlan was standing. Lauchlan supposed that when he and the man had copulated, he would have been… put himself up the other man’s… well, entered through the rear exit, as it were. Lauchlan squirmed uncomfortably. He wanted nothing more than to escape for home, but leaving the man here without making sure that he was all right first didn’t sit well with Lauchlan’s sensibilities, but neither did he want to wake the man up to ask.

 

But, then again, it couldn’t hurt to just look, surely, and the memories of what they’d done fluttered through his consciousness. Lauchlan swallowed. The thought of actually checking was mildly sickening, but he had to do _something_. Lauchlan bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to quiet the nausea churning in the pit of his stomach. He knew he had to check, the man might need a doctor after all. Steeling himself, Lauchlan picked up a corner of the blanket and folded it around his hand as a makeshift glove. With a grimace Lauchlan reached out and gently parted the man’s buttocks, revealing his abused opening.

 

“Oh, my,” muttered Lauchlan in shock. If there were any doubt that they had copulated, it was erased by the sight of the abused orifice. It looked swollen and as bruised as his hips. Lauchlan paled at the sight of something dark and scabby clinging to the surrounding flesh. He hastily pulled the blankets up around mystery man’s shoulders and back-peddled across the room, his face burning with shame. Yes, he was definitely going to need to call a doctor, and the doctor would most probably want to know how he acquired such wounds, and Lauchlan would have to tell him.

 

Lauchlan steeled himself, swallowing down bile, and began to rummage around the room for his clothing. If he was going to have to face the consequences of his drunken actions, then he at least deserved to face it with his clothes on. That and his naked body was beginning to feel the morning chill intensely in the cool room. He found his shirt draped over the arm of one of the armchairs, it’s buttons still fastened, and pulled it over his head, grateful for the warm wool. His trousers and shoes were nowhere to be seen but his undergarments were found kicked under the opposite chair. He gratefully pulled them on, but as he tucked the family jewels into the relative safety of his smallclothes he was jolted by an aching tenderness in his unmentionable places. His breath hitched in panic and the headache dance began to swirl anew as the symptoms of every venereal disease he had ever heard of began flashing through his mind in a painful whirl. Struggling to take deep, steadying breaths, Lauchlan turned his body to face the window to examine his tackle in the light. His manhood looked and felt completely normal to Lauchlan, but his scrotum had a sore, red rash covering it’s front. Syphilis manifested in rash of the genitals, or at least that was what Lauchlan remembered. Lauchlan began to hyperventilate and the dance was becoming a stampede as he worked himself into a panic. He though he was going to die, he knew he was going to die, all because he drank a few too many pints and fell into bed with some godforsaken perverted bastard with a scratchy beard and nice rear end. His thoughts screeched to a hault when the though of his beard came to mind.

 

The memory of having the scratchy goatee against his shoulder came to mind and Lauchlan’s mind made a shaky connection. It, cit couldn’t possibly had been? Could it? The rash _was_ triangle shaped, and it was the right size. Lauchlan was willing to swear up and down that he’d never do such a thing, and yet, the more he thought about it, the more Lauchlan thought he could remember something along those lines. He recalled fuzzy memories of clutching onto thick, greasy hair as he thrusted into something that was deliciously warm and moist, something with _teeth_. Lauchlan swallowed thickly as the image of the man swallowing his manhood _all_ the way down rose to the front of his mind and teased him. How on earth did he manage to fit all of that into his _mouth?_ He had had never been in quite so far with Ida and she had been built for that, yet this man had done so to the point where he had left chafing on the family jewels!

 

“What in hell?” croaked a hoarse, irritated voice that jarred Lauchlan out of his thoughts. Lauchlan’s head snapped around to meet the bloodshot, incredulous glare of mystery man.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” croaked mystery man. His hoarse, gravely voice only fed Lauchlan’s suspicions and the image of the man’s jaws opened wide around his manhood burned itself into Lauchlan’s mind, and sent a little tingle down his spine which settled in his loins. Which were still cupped in Lauchlan’s hands. Completely mortified, Lauchlan shoved himself into the safety of his smallclothes as quickly as was humanly possible and clasped his hands behind his back in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.

 

“Um, I don’t suppose you would have any idea where my trousers are, would you?” Lauchlan said, desperately trying to appear as collected as possible.

 

Mystery man’s expression shifted from cranky and incredulous to exasperated and incredulous. He silently raised an arm and pointed to the wardrobe, where Lauchlan’s trousers were dangling from the corner of the frame by the waistband.Lauchlan wondered how on earth they had gotten there as he dashed over to reclaim them. Thankfully they were still clean, even if they did have the pungent pub floor smell clinging to them like a stain. As he pulled them on he was dismayed to find that the buttons of the fly were missing. He decided that he didn’t care to know how that had happened, otherwise trying to figure out the why would send him round the bend. He was thankful to find that his belt was still threaded through the belt loops where he had left it, and he fastened it snug around his waist, leaving his shirt untucked to hide his open fly from view. The pressure of the belt around his waist was reminding him of the need for relief which was growing more pressing by the moment.

 

Writhing with embarrassment, Lauchlan glanced back towards the bed, hoping to ask after the facilities, but was met only by a lump in the bed where mystery man had burrowed face first into the pillows, presenting only the back of his greasy head in Lauchlan’s direction. Lauchlan took a steadying breath, squashed his embarrassment to the back of his mind and padded over to mystery man as quietly as possible. Being mindful of the man’s obvious discomfort, he gently patted his shoulder through the layers of the blankets. Mystery man groaned and tried to burrow even deeper into the pillows of the bed, grunting in displeasure when he hit the mattress with his nose. An arm crept out from beneath the blankets and grasped at the pillows, shifting them and smushing the stuffing around as he turned his head this way and that, looking for a more comfortable position. After a few moments mystery man settled again, face down in the pillows and paying Lauchlan no mind at all.

 

“Um, excuse me?” asked Lauchlan, unsure if mystery man was ignoring him or if he had fallen asleep again. Mystery man’s head turned a single fraction towards Lauchlan, giving him a bleary, one-eyed glance over before turning his head to face Lauchlan, giving him a view of his profile as his pinched expression deepened into a scowl.

 

“What?” spat mystery man, fixing Lauchlan with a withering glare.

 

“I, um, look, I don’t want to be rude here but I don’t know where I am, or how I got here and I was hoping that, well, I was wondering if you could direct me to the facilities... please.” Lauchlan grew more and more flustered with every word he spoke, feeling his blush turn from crimson to beet red as he shuffled from foot to foot in an unsuccessful attempt to will away his embarrassment by transforming it into kinetic energy. Mystery man heaved a weary sigh and rolled his eyes in exasperation.

 

“Alright, alright, I’m up,” grumbled mystery man beneath his breath as he flung back blankets with far more drama than Lauchlan felt necessary. Lauchlan kept his eye glued to the floor. With stiff, mechanical movements, mystery man slid his arms up to the pillows again and forced his torso up from the mattress with an exaggerated grunt of exertion which morphed into an honest cry of pain as he flopped back into the embrace of the mattress, pressing the heel of his hand to his tailbone.

 

“Oh, bloody,” he hissed through clenched teeth as he struggled to take deep, laboured breaths through the pain.

 

Lauchlan almost jumped a good two feet into the air at the sudden profanities, convinced that mystery man would start shouting for the neighbours with allegations of rape, or even worse, enact revenge himself. But imminent doom did not seem to be as imminent as he’d assumed. Mystery man paid Lauchlan little mind as he gingerly flexed his legs and kneaded his tailbone with tense hands, muttering unintelligible curses with every shift and tug of the bruised muscles. Lauchlan stared at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the entire universe, determined not to spare another glance at mystery man in case he caught him staring at the his arse again, because that would just be the cherry on top of what had been the most embarrassing, nerve wracking, terrifying morning in Lauchlan’s memory.

 

“Um, are you, all right?” Lauchlan asked, the chivalrous attitude that had been ingrained in him since childhood overriding his instincts, but he slowly backed away, his frayed nerves telling him to sod his chivalry and run for it.

 

“What?” mystery man’s eyes shot up to meet Lauchlan’s, who halted in his tracks, surprised by mystery man’s gob-smacked expression. “Of course I’m not all right,” he barked. “You of all men should know that. Honestly, something wrong with your memory?” he muttered, fast and flippant.

 

Lauchlan’s sheepish expression spoke louder than words, and mystery man seemed to deflate a little. He heaved another tired sigh and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it.

 

“All of it, really?” asked mystery man, his tone searching.

 

“Just fuzzy bits and pieces,” said Lauchlan, shrugging in an apologetic manner, praying to god that there wouldn’t be any more surprises left from the night before.

 

“I knew you were drunk but I didn’t think you were _that_ drunk,” he said, anger turning his low voice into a heated snarl. For a moment he looked disappointed, but the expression flickered away before Lauchlan could register it.

 

“Forget it, it’s your loss. Look, don’t just stand there and stare at me like chopped liver, help me out here. This is your own mess after all,” he growled, returning to his cantankerous attitude as he beckoned Lauchlan closer with a wave of his hand.

 

Lauchlan took a tentative step forwards. The need to turn tail and run was slowly receding. The man didn’t seem to be angry with him, which could only be a good sign. The man was right that this whole situation was his fault for the most part, so he supposed that it was only fair. Lauchlan came to a stop at the bedside, his eyes drifting from the floor to the ceiling to the grain of the walls, desperately seeking somewhere that was safe. Eventually he settled on the pillow, near enough to mystery man’s head to seem polite while also being completely free of the bruised, naked flesh that was splayed across the sheets like a banquet.

 

“Umm, what exactly do you want me to d— arg!” mystery man grasped a fistful of Lauchlan shirt and _yanked,_ cutting Lauchlan’s sentence short. He buckled beneath the unanticipated attack, crumbling downwards towards the bed. Mystery man released his shirt and shot his arm upwards, grappling onto Lauchlan’s shoulder and dragging their bodies closer together.

 

“Alright, back up now,” said mystery man, though he needn’t have bothered. Lauchlan was still reeling from the vertigo of being yanked downwards and the shock of having the man suddenly invading his personal space was enough to send him recoiling backwards again. Mystery man did not relent his grip on his shoulder and was pulled upwards along with him, grunting with pain as the movement tugged and strained his tender injured tissues.

 

“Hold still!” demanded mystery man as Lauchlan stumbled beneath the sudden pressure. Lauchlan’s frantic movements slowly stilled, weighed down by the surprisingly heavy man attached to his shoulder, who was digging his knees into the soft mattress for stability.

 

“Here we go,” grunted mystery man, his voice tense and strained. He grasped one of Lauchlan’s hands in his own and pressed the heel of it into his back, just above the tailbone, allowing Lauchlan’s fingers to brush against the cleft of his arse.

 

“Now just press down there” he instructed, bracing his knees against the bed.

 

Lauchlan gawped at the naked man in his arms, the crawling sensation making his legs feel shaky and the hand that mystery man had planted on his back felt like a lump of lead attached to the end of his arm.

 

Lauchlan stared, dumbfounded, surely he didn’t expect him to...

“Will you hurry up and do it?” barked mystery man.

 

His cage thoroughly rattled, Lauchlan obeyed. He pressed downwards on the bony ridge, but to his surprise mystery man yielded to the pressure, allowing his knees to slide backwards as his spine painfully began to bend. The more Lauchlan pressed, the more resistance he was met with, and mystery man was making worrying noises beneath his breath, a sort of wheezing, groaning sound. Unsure of what exactly he was doing, Lauchlan continued to press, growing more and more flushed as mystery man’s chest was pressed tighter against his own by the pressure of the two opposing forces. Lauchlan jolted when he felt something soft and fleshy brush against his free hand. _!_ Lauchlan snatched his hand away, holding it out from his body and he shuddered, hoping that it hadn’t been what he thought it was. The combination of illness, nerves and guilt made him gag, and the absurdity of the situation was not helping any.

 

“Don’t stop, not yet,” mystery man barked, agitated by Lauchlan’s distraction.

 

Feeling flustered and sick, Lauchlan swallowed his pride and screwed his eye shut tight. He reached around with his other hand to join the working hand and pushed as hard as he dared to, praying that this strange exercise would just be over so that he could go home, hide in his study and never, ever touch a drink again.

 

Something in the man pulled tight and twanged free like a rubber band. There was a muffled “pop” as they cracked and shifted into a new alignment. The man cried out a strangled moan and pushed off Lauchlan’s chest, supporting his weight on his knees as he rolled his shoulders and spine, grunting in pleasure with every wave of fleshy cracking and popping noises that signalled the release of the tension he had been harbouring all morning. Content, he flopped backwards, slipping through Lauchlan’s arms to sprawl on his back in a way that could only be described as lascivious.

 

“That’s better,” he panted, and actually smiled for the first time that morning, the pained slurring gone from his voice.

 

Lauchlan flinched away from the sight of the man’s naked flesh spread out before him, but too late. The sight of it would be forever burned into his memory. The man’s sated expression and the tangle of hairy limbs splayed about his naked torso, the dark hair that curled and lead his eye downwards towards his… Lauchlan shuddered and swallowed thickly. Disturbed not only by the display of bruises and flesh but by the strange air of familiarity the scene had, as if he had seen this, no, _caused_ this before. It was both terrifying and strangely soothing to Lauchlan, if only because it seemed as if he hadn’t broken the man after all.

 

“Uh, great! I suppose I’ll just go then, if you’re feeling better,” stuttered Lauchlan, anxious to retreat for the privacy of his home, his courage well and truly used up.

 

Lauchlan turned away from the bed to leave, but his escape was spoiled when mystery man kicked out with his legs and hooked them around each of Lauchlan’s knees, pinning him against the bed.

 

“You’re not going anywhere just yet,” said the man, his voice smooth but his tone low and threatening. Lauchlan jerked around to meet the man’s gaze, forced to twist his torso into a painful position to compensate for his blind side as he returned the man’s incredulous glare.

 

“Why not? I’ve done what you asked me to! Just let me go home please, I can call a doctor if that’s what you need,” he pleaded, gesturing wildly with his hands to try and convey his frustration and struggling against the man’s grip around his legs.

 

“Well, you have so far, but I think you’ve forgotten something rather important here,” he said, his smirk setting Lauchlan on edge. He reached upwards into the pillows at the head of the bed, feeling around blindly for a moment and produced a small grey object which he waggled back and forth in front of Lauchlan in a teasing fashion. “I believe that this is yours, for the first thing,” he said, the smirk dripping from his voice like honey.

 

Lauchlan stared at the object blankly for a moment before he made the connection. It was his eye patch, and the sudden realization that he’d been without it all this time hit him in the gut like a physical blow. He had never been without the covering in public, not since the day he lost the eye. It was his shield, protecting him from the condemnation and disgust that the disfigurement drew in from his peers like flies to honey.

 

They couldn’t be blamed for it, not really. It was a disgusting sight, the inside his socket was flushed with blood and constantly wept fluid, the remains of his eyelids had sunken inward and the wall of the socked was swollen and sagged inward in the absence of anything to support its shape. He was all too aware of the horrible sight, just looking at himself in the mirror made his skin crawl, so he covered it. With that simple act all the problems that it caused and attention that it drew became more bearable. People still stared but at least they didn’t cover their mouths and retch at the sight of him. The simple act of being without it, and worse still, the possibility of having to go home without it, was absolutely petrifying for him. He didn’t just want the thing, he _needed_ it.

 

He kicked free and snatched at the dangling object in a desperate bid to reclaim it, but the man jerked it backwards and held it out of Lauchlan’s reach.

 

“Hold on, will you! It’s not going to vanish,” barked the man in surprise, but Lauchlan payed no attention and dived after his little shield like a starved dog after a scrap of meat. The man scrambled backwards but Lauchlan followed, kneeling on his legs by accident as he desperately tried to grasp at his waving arms.

 

“Bloody hell, man!” swore mystery man beneath Lauchlan’s weight. “Take the bloody thing!” he flicked the square of cloth away from him. It flipped through the air in a graceful arch and skittered to a halt on the floor some five feet away. Lauchlan dove after it and within moments he had it fixed it over the empty space where his right eye used to be; the soft weight of the felt over the scarred flesh was familiar to the point where it was almost a part of him. He forced himself to take deep, even breaths and tried to convince himself that he’d be alright, that he was safe and the repeated the mantra over and over.

 

“You don’t do anything by bloody halves, do you?” grumbled the man, staring at Lauchlan as if he were a madman, which in retrospect he probably looked like, and rubbed at a fresh bruise that Lauchlan had left on his calf.

 

“I’m sorry,” Lauchlan muttered, ashamed that he had managed to hurt the man yet again. “I just… I need this thing,” it was a pathetic excuse, he knew, but it was the truth. Without it he just couldn’t function.

 

“I gathered that,” retorted mystery man, his voice laced with cynicism, but he drove on before Lauchlan could voice anything else.

 

“Now, as I was saying before I was so suddenly interrupted—” his tone of his voice was light, but Lauchlan languished beneath the implication, “—you and I developed a bit of an understanding with one another last night, and I’m sure you can remember the nature of it if nothing else, so don’t even bother playing stupid with me. What you seem to have forgotten is that you are in my debt, as it were,” he said, his voice swooping into a rough rumble, practically purring out “debt” as he smirked like the Cheshire cat. If Lauchlan were not already kneeling on the floor he could have been bowled over by a feather, his mind racing to all the wrong conclusions.

 

“You... want money?” asked Lauchlan, blanching when mystery man’s smirk morphed into a scowl.

 

“Of course I don’t want your money! What do you think I am?” the man growled, insulted by the very implication of it, snarling and waving his hands to express his indignity he struggled to calm himself down. Lauchlan had the decency to not to comment that his choice of words suggested otherwise.

 

“Look, Lauchlan, I don’t know about you, but I for one recall giving an awful lot, and not getting much in return, if you catch my drift.”

 

Lauchlan’s embarrassment returned with vitriol and he could only stare at the floor and nod, his stomach felt as if it wanted to crawl out of his mouth and escape.

 

“Good. Now, just in case you’ve forgotten, I don’t give anything unless I’m given the opportunity for what I gave to be returned in kind,” he purred, sliding from the bed and limping over to where Lauchlan was crouched on the floor, still hampered by the injuries to his behind, and grasped his shoulders. “So the agreement was that you owe me two favours, which I’m sure you can remember,”

 

Lauchlan’s eye went wide and he realised exactly what he was implying. He darted to his feet and shoved mystery man out of his personal space. “No! You can’t expect me to just… No!” he stuttered as he backed towards the door. Mystery man’s scowl deepened. He lunged forwards with surprising speed and grasped a fistful of Lauchlan’s shirt, tugging it down so that he and Lauchlan were almost nose to nose.

 

“Now don’t you think that’s a bit _selfish_ of you?” he challenged, “Especially after all I’ve given you?” his hand traced downwards and traced the outline of one of the purple bruises on his hipbone with a languid, sensual sweep of his fingers.

 

Lauchlan flinched, memories of Ida leaping into his mind, taunting him with promises of forever that were ultimately broken. As much as Lauchlan was loath to admit it, the man was right, but the thought of just giving himself to a stranger and a man at that… it was unthinkable, unclean, and if the word of it travelled he’d be crucified!

 

“I just… I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name! You can’t just ask me to do… _that_ ,” Lauchlan said, trying to be as apologetic as possible, but mystery man’s expression only soured.

 

“You expected me to do ‘that’ last night and you didn’t ‘know me’ then either,” said the man, releasing Lauchlan’s shirt in order to gesture angrily. “And since you seem to have a memory like a sieve, I’ll remind you,” his hands shot up to reclaim Lauchlan’s collar and tugged his face back down to his level. “My name is Corbin, Cor-bin,” he released Lauchlan’s collar and, much to his relief, stepped out of Lauchlan’s personal space, only to fluster him again by cupping his own crotch with one hand and waving at it with the other. “Look at this. Compared to what you expected me to take on, I’m not much at all. It’s not going to hurt one bit, that much I assure you,” he said, punctuating his sentence with a jaunty squeeze of the organ in his hand, making Lauchlan blush a furious red. “All you have to pay is a few hours of your life, and perhaps a little pride, but I guarantee you won’t regret it come morning,” he purred, licking his bearded lips suggestively.

 

“Look, just... no. No. I’m very sorry,” Lauchlan said, turning to the door of the room. As guilty as he was, the thought of simply bending over for a man just because he asked him was both ludicrous and sickening.

 

“Shame, I thought you were the type of person who kept his promises. I suppose life will always let you down after all,” sighed Corbin, turning away from Lauchlan’s retreating form with his shoulders slumped. “A little bit of give for a bit of take seemed fair play to me, but you obviously know better, ah well. Go on then, leave. Your boots are still at the door.” Corbin retreated back across the room with deliberately heavy steps and flopped back onto the bed, sighing as he made a show of putting his back to Lauchlan and appearing disinterested.

 

Lauchlan paused at the door, his hand on the handle. It would be so easy to escape and put an end to this madness, but his guilt gnashed at his conscience like a dog on a bone. He looked back, gazing at the bruises scattered across Corbin’s body and the depressed slump in his shoulders.

 

Memories of Ida swirled into his mind, memories of her raving and blaming and pouring out a storm of hurtful words and flurried movements as she walked out of his life for good, because he had hurt her. He had hurt Corbin, too, but now he was asking him to take a chance, to reconcile for the hurt he had caused. If he had been given the chance to reconcile with Ida he would have snatched it up in a moment, but Corbin was not Ida. Lauchlan chewed his lip. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew that it would just be so much easier to leave, to run home and never think about this horrible mistake ever again, but Corbin’s words were reverberating through his thoughts. Lauchlan did not make promises lightly and he always kept them. But, this was a promise he couldn’t remember making. Then again, he couldn’t say that he hadn’t made it. Lauchlan sighed and pressed his forehead against the wooden door. It was absurd, obscene and foolish but Corbin was right, he was being selfish.

 

“All right, I’ll do it,” whispered Lauchlan into the door.

 

“What?” asked Corbin, rearing up from the bed to face Lauchlan again.

 

“I said, I’ll do it,” barked Lauchlan, spewing forth the words in a loud, jumbled rush before he could change his mind.

 

Lauchlan heard the dull pat of Corbin’s feet on the floor as he came up behind him and braced himself for the inevitable contact, but none came.

 

“I didn’t mean now, you fool,” jibed Corbin. Lauchlan turned to meet Corbin’s gaze, thankful to find that Corbin had wrapped a blanket around his waist like an over-sized kilt.

 

“Then, when?” Lauchlan asked, confused.

 

“When I feel like it. It’s not like its some kind of bloody chore, is it?” said Corbin with the hint of a chuckle in his voice. Corbin pushed open the bedroom door and grasped Lauchlan’s elbow, leading him into the narrow corridor outside of the room.

 

“I’ll come round when I feel like calling one of my favours due. Don’t look at me like that, I only know how to contact you because you told me how yesterday, remember?” he rolled his eyes at the frightened, wide-eyed look that Lauchlan was fixing him as he steered him through the little flat and down a narrow, dark staircase. Lauchlan had to stoop to avoid bashing his forehead against the ceiling.

 

After a few moments they emerged onto the ground floor landing of the flat and Corbin thrusted Lauchlan gracelessly into a cramped, closet-like space that was filled almost completely by a few worn coats and other pieces of clothing that were hanging from hooks on the furthest wall, damp with rain and stained by countless other substances. The little alcove smelled sickly sweet, bitter and moist all at once. Lauchlan’s beige overcoat and large, muddy work boots stood out against the smaller, dark-coloured garments that must have belonged to Corbin. Lauchlan snatched his coat from its hanging space and shrugged it on, grateful that it was dry at least, but the sweaty, sickening smell of spilled beer was still clinging to it like a cobweb, leaving Lauchlan itching for a bath and a good splash of cologne.

  

He shrugged on his coat and stepped into the boots, stooping briefly too lace them. When he stood, he was forced to keep his back against to the wall to allow both of them to stand side by side in the narrow hallway. Corbin wriggled past Lauchlan and gently nudged him towards what must have been the back door of the cramped little flat. It was a thick and sturdy fixture, coated in chipping green paint and reinforced with brass plating and a thick iron bolt in each corner. It made Lauchlan shudder, wondering just what kind of neighbourhood he had wandered into that warranted such measures when Corbin clearly had little worth breaking into his house to steal.

 

Lauchlan stooped downwards to draw the bottom bolt open, but he couldn’t quell his rising nervousness as he felt Corbin staring at him, making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and his stomach churn. He gulped a mouthful air and wet his lips nervously as he drew the bolt with shaky hands. It squeaked in complaint as it moved haltingly along and eventually lurched into its opened position with a sharp click. Lauchlan braced his hands against his knees as he prepared to stand up again to unlatch the top bolt, but as Lauchlan rocked forwards to rise he felt Corbin’s body sidle up behind him and flatten their bodies together. Lauchlan jolted, the warmth of Corbin’s body stired panic wherever they touched. He struggled to stand back up anyway by pressing his body against the door to avoid rubbing up against Corbin. Corbin stilled him by putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing his weight down on it. He planted his legs on each side of his waist and squeezed it between his calves as he rocked forwards, leaning over Lauchlan’s stooped form for leverage.

 

Lauchlan was frozen, his throat closing up and his hands shaking as he silently panicked, convinced that the man had changed his mind and was going to mount him like an animal then and there. He couldn’t bear to move as he trembled, his skin becoming hyper sensitive as he felt Corbin’s touch burning through his coat and into his skin everywhere that the touches fell. He grit his teeth and shuddered as he could feel the outline of the soft bulge that was Corbin’s manhood pressed against his back. Corbin strained, using Lauchlan’s shoulder as a brace as he pushed upwards onto his tiptoes.

 

Lauchlan’s breath hitched as he franticly wondered what on earth the man was doing, as his oppressive weight bore down on him.

 

Lauchlan couldn’t bear wondering anymore. He had to stop this, take control of the situation somehow. He twisted his body, trying to turn so his blind side would be protected by the solid presence of the door and managed to crane his neck upwards, allowing him to see the flat, furry planes of Corbin’s chest above him. Lauchlan was about to try to buck the man off his back or something when he heard a sudden click, and snapped his eye upwards in time to see Corbin’s hand releasing the now unlatched bolt. That was all he had been doing? Corbin rocked back onto his heels and drew away from him. Lauchlan slackened in relief, and couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed by the conclusions he had been drawing today. His knees felt stiff and they complained with a pop as he rose to his feet again. He had to lean heavily against the door for support, feeing strangely boneless now that the source of his panic was gone.

 

“This is Halburne Street, in Coalford Crossing. Do you know how to get home from here?” asked Corbin, seemingly innocent, but he was holding himself in a way that reminded Lauchlan of a coiled snake, waiting patiently for its prey wander within striking range.

 

“Umm… I think so. Just cross the river at Faulkner’s Bridge and head east from there, right?” asked Lauchlan. Coalford Crossing was most definitely not a place he had ever wanted to be. He knew all too well that the suburb was notoriously rife with petty crime and prostitution. Only the desperately penniless and the immoral ever came here, and Lauchlan never dreamed of being either of those. Halburne was on the outskirts of the region, true, but it was still thick with undesirable company. Lauchlan could only hope that he would get home without further molestation.

 

“Yes, but you might want to catch a cab,” Corbin said.

 

“Right,” he said, but Lauchlan would definitely not be doing that. He’d had met at least half of the city’s cabbies through his position as stable master. He had to work with them every day and if just one of his colleagues found him in Coalford of all the places... Lauchlan shuddered. The humiliation of it would make his job near unbearable, if he didn’t lose it after this.

 

It took Lauchlan a moment to overcome a sudden moment of agoraphobia. He had to do this, he had to get out, he had to go home, get to work and get on with his life. No one would ever have to know about this. Or at least he told himself that. Fortified, Lauchlan pushed off from the door to stand on his own two feet again, but when he tried the handle, it refused to turn. He supposed that he shouldn’t be too surprised that it was locked, considering the circumstances.

 

“Umm, could I please borrow the key?” asked Lauchlan. He didn’t want to tempt fate, but Corbin’s unnerving gaze was making the urge to run for home even stronger. If he had to perform this strange dance of touches for a moment more, Lauchlan swore he was going to break down the door and run screaming for home like a madman.

 

“Haven’t you forgotten your manners, now?” purred Corbin, the Cheshire grin beginning to make a reappearance. That couldn’t be good.

 

“Thank you?” said Lauchlan, unsure what else he should say. He couldn’t just out it and say ‘Oh, thank you for engaging in sodomy with me and allowing me to satisfy my morbid urges, I enjoyed it very much’ could he? Whatever there was left to be said was lost on him.

 

“Hmm, I suppose you would need a bit of an etiquette lesson here, wouldn’t you?” Corbin grumbled, his brown eyes rolling.

 

Lauchlan was at a loss and for a split second he could only gawp at Corbin. This man was questioning his manners and was going to try and teach him something about etiquette? It had to be a joke, it just had to be, because there was no way on earth that Corbin and etiquette could fit together. It was plain as day. Lauchlan opened his mouth to protest or laugh or something but Corbin reinvaded his personal space and his voice abandoned him. Corbin roughly pressed Lauchlan flat against the door, covering his torso with his own and planting his hands on either side of Lauchlan to trap him there.

 

Corbin pressed their chests flush together, making his breath hitch and sent a nervous thrill darting up his spine. He had only enough lucidity left in him to marvel at how small the man seemed. The crown of his head barely rose higher than Lauchlan’s chest, and the man had to tilt his head back and crane his neck just to make eye contact with him. Corbin’s hands crept up the plane of the door and linked behind his neck. Corbin raised himself up onto his tiptoes and tugged him down.

 

The kiss started in earnest, well, at least on Corbin’s part. His thin, bearded lips puckered and planted a chaste kiss on Lauchlan’s own. They weren’t at all like a woman’s lips, thin and framed with scratchy stubble. Corbin began to press and shift them against Lauchlan’s, stroking and prying at his mouth as he parted his lips and turned this kiss from a chaste press to a wet, hungry mess. Lauchlan didn’t know what to do. He had kissed others, of course, but this was nothing like any of those. They had been women for starters. With Ida it had been him that had led. She had asked and encouraged and tempted him, but it had always been Lauchlan who had led and Lauchlan who had held all the control, now he had none at all. Lauchlan could only stand still, with his back bent over and his arms held awkwardly outwards as Corbin’s lips worked away at his mouth, prying and nipping at his wooden lips in an attempt to get Lauchlan to respond a little, but he wouldn’t have been able to even if he wanted.

 

To his credit, Corbin never tried to force Lauchlan any further, but he curled his fingers into his hair and clutched at it, tugging Lauchlan’s head further down toward Corbin. Whether it was out of frustration or affection, Lauchlan couldn’t tell. Corbin’s lips left Lauchlan’s mouth and drifted up his cheeks, which were slightly coarse with shadow. He left a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses across the rough skin, pausing only to lap a wet, sloppy pattern on his right cheekbone just below the felt of his eye patch. The hand in Lauchlan’s hair groped until its fingers curled around the strap of the eye patch and tweaked it gently. The felt patch slid upwards a fraction and Corbin’s lips followed it planting soft, warm kisses against scarred flesh.

 

The wet touch against the sensitive skin had been enough to snap Lauchlan from his stupor, and he flinched away from the gentle kisses with a whimper. He pressed his blind side to the wood of the door in an attempt to shield himself and tried to shove Corbin away with his left arm, but Corbin was unrelenting. He grasped at the arm that Lauchlan had shoved with and before Lauchlan could shake him off, he twisted it, locking it between their bodies as he attacked the newly exposed skin of Lauchlan’s neck for a moment, nibbling and sucking at it before he followed it up and lavished attention on the place where his jaw met his jugular, making Lauchlan’s breath hitch as the sensations finally began to sink past his shocked mind and into a deep puddle of sensation that weighted on his churning stomach like a tangible thing. It felt good, sort of, and as Corbin’s mouth climbed up higher, still raining down kisses on its way, Lauchlan’s taut muscles finally began to unwind as he relaxed, if only a little, into the kiss. Lauchlan gasped as Corbin nibbled on his earlobe, drawing it into his mouth and sucking on it while his bearded chin tickled at the skin he had already ravaged. The dutiful, chivalrous part of his mind told him that he really shouldn’t behave in this way, and that if he was really had to enjoy this, as sordid as it was, then he should at least reciprocate.

 

Lauchlan’s breath stuttered as Corbin’s kisses began to creep back down along his jaw line, towards his mouth again. Lauchlan’s thoughts swam about in a jumbled confusion, his baser instincts aroused by the mans attentions, no matter how the rest of him revolted. Lauchlan could barely bite back the moan that swam in his throat as the tip of Corbin’s tongue flicked against the corner of his mouth, and he dipped in for another kiss.

 

Lauchlan blinked, dazed, as Corbin rocked back onto his heels and stepped backwards, staring up at Lauchlan with that look on his face again. Lauchlan tried to clear his throat but it had closed up on him again. Corbin’s frustrated gaze was strong enough to bore a hole right through a wall. Lauchlan shrank beneath it and tried to look elsewhere, but as his eye sank to the floor he discovered that Corbin had dropped the blanket at some point, leaving it in a puddle around his bruised, naked legs. Lauchlan flinched away from the sight in front of him, his shame and discomfort returning to him like a bad taste in his mouth as he recalled just how those bruises had gotten there, not to mention all of the other… no, he was not going to think about that. Not now.

 

“It’s rather common courtesy to say goodbye after you’ve spent the night with someone, especially when this is my home, after all,” Corbin snarled, the low growl of his voice underlining his annoyance, causing Lauchlan to shrink a little

 

“I’m sorry, all right? I just... goodbye, there, okay? Can I please go home now?” stuttered Lauchlan, unsure of how to placate the man. Was “saying goodbye” what that kiss was supposed to be about?

 

Corbin sighed and passed a hand over his face again, pinching the bridge of his nose as he seemed to become much more tired than he had been before. The expression passed as quickly as before and Corbin snapped back to what Lauchlan presumed was his usual candid and cantankerous self with a shake of his head.

 

“Fine, fine, I suppose that’s good enough,” he said dismissively, but there was something not right about the way he said it. It didn’t sit well with Lauchlan. In fact, it made him worry that he’d made things even worse.

 

Before Lauchlan could think of what to say to try and smooth things over, Corbin reached out and dipped his hand into the right pocket of Lauchlan’s overcoat. Lauchlan couldn’t see what he was doing because the pocket was on his blind side, he seldom used it for that reason. He felt Corbin’s hand feel about and close around something small and firm which he pulled free. As Corbin turned the object around in his hands Lauchlan was startled to realise that the object was a key: A plain brass key, devoid of decoration except for a short piece of red ribbon looped through the handle. Lauchlan had never seen it before, so what on earth was it doing in his pocket?

 

Corbin hooked the blanket with his foot and kicked it up into his free hand. After the blanket was snug around his waist again, he reached around Lauchlan’s body and put the key to the. The key scraped to the right, to the left and then in a full circle back to the right again. The door came unlocked with a resounding clack of the spring-loaded mechanism. Lauchlan stared at it, wondering how it had found it’s way into his pocket. He supposed that Corbin must have given it to him. But, wouldn’t that mean that he had agreed to visit or something along those lines? It was the only good reason that Lauchlan could think of. If it was true then he guessed that Corbin must have been telling the truth about his “promise” after all. It was both relieving and confusing all at once. The line of thought was cut off when Corbin slammed the door open with no heed to Lauchlan, who was still beside it and had to jump sideways to avoid being sandwiched between the wall and the inward-swinging door which struck into it with a heavy thump of metal on the wooden panelling.

 

“What was that for?” asked Lauchlan, that could have ended rather painfully.

 

“You’ve been standing there like a rag doll for about, oh, twenty minutes now?” Corbin said, and he looked more than a bit annoyed, “You really need to wake up a bit or you’ll get yourself lost as you wander around in your hypnotised stupor,” he huffed, the speech accompanied by a dramatic wave of his hands, which he hastily crossed over his chest when his tirade was done.

 

Lauchlan was not the most socially perceptive person in the world, but he knew when people were mocking him, and that had most definitely been mockery. But then again, Corbin had managed to stun him into silence more than once this morning, so it was probably applicable. It was a rather sad thought, really. Lauchlan shook his head to banish the self-depreciating thoughts from his mind. The door was open he needed to go home, have a bath, have breakfast and sort all this out after, and only after, those things were done — and when Corbin was nowhere within hearing range.

 

“Look, just keep your wits, okay? This isn’t the kind of neighbourhood you’re used to,” said Corbin, his tone almost apologetic, much to Lauchlan’s surprise. But Lauchlan really didn’t need to be warned.

 

“I know, thank you,” said Lauchlan, almost leaping out the open door into the dingy alleyway outside, more eager to be home than ever, but stepping away from the door was giving him an uneasy feeling, like there was something just so instinctively wrong about walking away like this. The ghosts of kisses danced on Lauchlan’s lips as he struggled to ignore the feeling.

 

“And Lauchlan!” called Corbin from the doorway. Lauchlan jolted to a stop and nervously turned to face Corbin again. Corbin’s lips quirked into a half-smile as he leaned against the doorframe, soaking up Lauchlan’s attention while he could.

 

“I’ll be in touch, don’t forget that,” he purred, his voice low and his half-lidded eyes full of dark promise as he swung the door shut at last.

 

Lauchlan felt the door close like a weight settling into the pit of his stomach and turned for home with the niggling feeling that he had sold his soul to the devil.

 

And he s _till_ needed to pee.

 

 


	2. A Watched Pot

Lauchlan loathed the thought of returning to work from the moment he had gotten out of bed that morning; the morning after the morning after he had woken up in another man’s bed and had all but signed his dignity away.

 

The debt he could live with, as long as he didn’t think about it, but the thought that other people might _know_ what he had done terrified him. Cabbies were not known for their respect of anyone else’s private affairs, so much so that sometimes Lauchlan wondered if he worked with a bunch of fishwives instead of grown men. If they knew, he could only imagine what he would be in for when he entered the gates. Hell, he was half expecting to be stoned to death on the spot. But even if they didn’t know about his drunken misadventure, Corbin could return at any time to settle their debt and Lauchlan had no doubt that word would get out to his colleagues when it was settled, if they didn’t witness it firsthand. Lauchlan shuddered at the very thought of the humiliation and prayed that it never came to that, but with his luck, it probably would.

 

Lauchlan had braced himself for the actual act of copulation. It had been the only thing on his mind ever since he’d made the blasted promise, and he convinced himself that it was something he might be able to tolerate. He had thought of just shutting his eye and imagining Ida in Corbin’s placebut he scrapped the idea after only a moment of entertaining it. There was no way on earth that he would be able to keep thoughts of sweet, innocent Ida in his mind while he was anywhere within a ten foot radius of Corbin. The image of Corbin’s battered body splayed out before him drowned out the thoughts even now. Never mind that the physical sensations of actually doing… _that_ with another man would make thinking of anything feminine a nearly impossible task.

 

The act of sodomy itself was no longer illegal, if by technicality. The laws regarding health and medical practice had been rewritten some years ago, and tucked away in some clause regarding mental asylums and other such institutions, it listed sodomy among other things, as a symptom of a deeper mental sickness, and ordered them to be treated as such. It remained unnoticed for a time until a French industrialist was arrested for soliciting a gigolo at some outrageous party. The scandal had been all over the newspapers, and the trial stalked with morbid curiously. The Frenchman, naturally hired the best solicitor his Francs could buy and it was argued that, under the asylum clause, his client was not committing a crime, but displaying a symptom of madness, and the law stated that those suffering from illness of the mind had the right to care and treatment chosen either by the state by a responsible caregiver, who came in the form of the frenchman’s brother. The judge agreed, and the Frenchman returned to his country to receive the most token of treatments before going free again. After that the floodgates had been opened to thousands of reprieves from sodomites, onanists and all manner of other deviants all across the country, and though the lawmakers hated it, the law was there in black and white, and it had to be honoured.

 

Lauchlan had never quite agreed with that state of affairs. People were not so fragile that they would snap under the slightest mental strain and throw away any sense of decency and sleep with anything they came across. It had to be something they chose to do, though he had no idea why they would. After all, he certainly wasn’t a madman, and Corbin seemed sound enough. But legal or not, most people didn’t think too much of sodomites, choice or not. People had even been murdered just out of suspicion of it, and Lauchlan really, _really_ liked being alive. Somehow he didn’t think that “I was drunk and I promised,” would be a good enough excuse to get him off the hook, unlike other more conventional drunken mistakes which inevitably ended in marriage. But did it even count if he had almost no recollection of the deed? If anything it added a layer of plausible deniability to the counter argument that he was planning as he arrived at his post after a day and night of fruitless fretting.

 

His employers were the prestigious Brett and Burke Cab Company, which was one of the most famous and efficient companies in the city and by far the favourite means of transportation for anyone who lacked their own way of getting about. It was rivalled only by the public horse tram service which was hindered only by the mire of bureaucracy. B&B owned more than a thousand horses and more than seven hundred hansom cabs as well as many other miscellaneous vehicles such as luggage transports, armoured wagons and wedding carriages that where hired out for reasonable fees.

 

It was Lauchlan’s job to care for the horses belonging to the company, not all one thousand though, just sixty of the beasts that were housed in one of B&Bs many stables. The local populace needed the cabs’ services daily, as the housing in the local neighbourhood was far too short on space for families to own their own horses and traps.

 

The people affectionately called the stable, The Beehive, due to the constant buzz of activity and the to-ing and fro-ing of the cabbies. Lauchlan thought that it was a very apt description for the place, because the throng of activity seldom ever lulled. In fact, it was Lauchlan’s job as stable master to ensure that the activity never lulled unless it was strictly necessary.

 

The mornings were always the busiest time of the day for Lauchlan and he had to set aside his argument plans in order to focus on what he considered the most important task of the day. He arrived at the beehive at precisely five thirty each morning. By that time, the swarm of stable boys employed by B&B had already started feeding the horses and preparing the many hansom cabs for the day, a much more demanding task than is often assumed. Each cab had be cleaned and checked over for damage before it could set out for the day, each driver was responsible for his own cab and had to pay for repairs out of pocket on top of the loss of wages, despite the fact that the hansoms were owned by B&B.

 

With a legion of stable boys performing much of the work typically assigned to the stable master, such as the cleaning and feeding it would be simple to assume that Lauchlan would have very little to do, but it was quite the opposite. Lauchlan was responsible not just for the horses but for the stable boys as well, he had to oversee everything that they did, making sure that their work was finished to good standard and on time as well as their hiring, firing and payment, putting stewardship duties on top of all the standard tasks. He also had to decide which horse would be paired with which driver and cab, after more than ten years of working for B&B he had come to know each horse by its name and its nature which was vital in making the right decision at a moment’s notice, otherwise the whole day could be slowed down and that did not please the higher ups.

 

It was also Lauchlan’s job to make sure that the schedule of the day was upheld. The schedule made B&B more efficient than its contemporaries and surprisingly humanitarian as a sort of happy by-product. But it was frustratingly difficult to maintain.

 

Every four hours or so, a driver would return to the beehive. There he would drop off his horse and Lauchlan would assign him a new horse from the stables while the driver cashed his earnings in the company safe. This way the horse that was previously working would be allowed an hour or so to eat and rest before it had to replace another horse, and the driver would be safer in the case of a robbery. There was one fatal flaw with the schedule, however. There were more cabs and horses working the streets then there were horses resting in reserve, so the cabs had to come and go in small waves. The “just one last trip” mentality of many of the drivers meant that they rarely arrived when they were supposed to. Keeping tabs on which horse had been working for how long and how much rest they had gotten and which drivers were going on which routes and so on and so forth was a royal pain in the neck that was confusing enough and frustrating enough to drive Lauchlan round the bend on more than one occasion. It was lucky that Lauchlan had a good head for numbers, otherwise the cursed schedule would have fallen apart years ago, and with it Lauchlan’s job.

 

Lauchlan had enough time to inspect the last horse, a surly Clydesdale named Byron, being hitched up to his hansom just before their drivers began pouring into the beehive just before six a.m. ready for work. Lauchlan didn’t know the drivers the same way that he knew their horses. It wasn’t as if he even had the opportunity to know them in quite the same way, they never seemed to want to know him. As a rule, the stable master would choose an apprentice from the stable boys who already worked for B&B, who were a very closely knit group. They usually came from the poorer classes and as such the position was much coveted for its higher pay and respect it garnered. To put it simply, it was a ticket out of the slums for the one boy who was lucky enough to grasp it. But Lauchlan had inadvertently flouted the age old tradition, and denied the boys of their dreams.

 

He had been sixteen when he had come to the beehive looking for a job, and sixteen was far too old to be a suitable stable boy. B&B always recruited their boys young, as soon as they were old enough to wield a shovel. It was the cheapest form of labour to be had. With the number of boys that the place needed to function, the labour had to be as cheap as possible to make the business worthwhile. At the time, Lauchlan had been so desperate for work that he was ready to try just about anything, even if it meant working for the pittance that was a child’s wage.

 

The old stable master, Percival, had seemed to understand just how desperate Lauchlan had been, so he had hired him, expecting him to give up and seek greener pastures when he discovered the confusing schedule and the exhausting shifts he would have to work. But Lauchlan did not give up. Within a week, he had a strong grasp on the schedule when even the other boys who had worked there for years didn’t. Percival had been so impressed that he had decided to replace the apprentice boy he had had in mind with Lauchlan after only a few short weeks, an act of generosity for which Lauchlan would forever be thankful for.

 

It won only spite from his peers, however. In their minds, he was an interloper who had stolen from one of their own, and many of the boys remained hateful and insubordinate towards Lauchlan to this very day. The fact that the boy who Lauchlan had replaced and almost all of his cohorts had moved on from B&B long ago didn’t seem to matter to the new boys at all, and that animosity seemed to have spread to some of the younger cabbies as well. Lauchlan was not a well-liked man, but he had never been very adept at socialization anyway so he did his best to make do and tried not to let the hurtful words and spiteful looks that came from the other employees bother him. It was the only way he could move on with his life.

 

Lauchlan was mentally ticking off each driver as they arrived and claimed their hansoms, and to his immense relief none of them seemed to pay him any attention, or at least no more than usual. It was a very good sign, and with each driver who passed out of the gates without a comment, a sneer or even an odd look in his direction, Lauchlan’s spirits lifted. For a few minutes, he dared to hope that just maybe his misadventure had gone unnoticed after all.

 

His spirits dived when Jasper arrived and seemed to be making a beeline towards him with his cab. Lauchlan’s heart started to race as he franticly combed though what little he could remember of the evening before, searching for anything; _anything_ that he could use to explain away what happened, but he couldn’t remember anything from the night spent at the tavern except that it was Jasper who had convinced him to go to the tavern; Jasper who had kept on buying him drinks when he _knew_ that Lauchlan couldn’t hold his liquor half as well as a man his size should have and it had was Jasper who had also assured him that nothing would go wrong, that they would all have a good time.

 

Lauchlan didn’t know about Jasper, but unless screwing a man till he bled and then becoming sexually indentured to that same man was considered “a good time” then no, Lauchlan certainly hadn’t had a good time at all. Despite Jasper’s assurances that he would keep an eye on him (statement followed by a nudge to his ribs and the supposedly ‘funny’ remark that he needed the extra one) he had still managed to get himself so drunk that he had ended up in _Coalford_ and in another man’s bed to boot. In fact, now that he thought about it, it was entirely likely that Jasper had a hand in the whole affair.

 

Lauchlan could remember Jasper insisting that he loosen up and have a bit of fun, all while shoving drinks into his hands, or at least he _thought_ it was Jasper. His memories were hazy at best. Only Jasper knew how easily he was intoxicated and Lauchlan didn’t know anyone else he would be willing to drink with. Except for that man at the bar who Jasper and his friends had insisted he try to outdrink, a challenge he could recall failing miserably. Lauchlan felt his stomach churn nervously as Jasper sidled up beside him with that smug smirk on his face, the same smirk that he wore out to poker games. Lauchlan began to sweat profusely under his coat. Jasper was always too sharp for his own good so there was little doubt in Lauchlan’s mind that his friend had something to do with his misadventure, the only question being what he intended to do with that knowledge.

 

“Lauchlan! That was one good night out! I wish that the boss would decide to get married more often, then we could have every weekend off!” said Jasper, his voice chipper and a smile splitting his freckled face.

 

“I wouldn’t remember,” mumbled Lauchlan, casting his eye to the ground as he desperately tried to flesh out his half-composed defences.

 

“Wow, I knew you were drunk but really?”

 

Lauchlan felt a rush of déjà vu and his affronted frown was more than enough of an answer

 

“Jeeze sorry, heh, I guess you drank a bit more than either of us thought,” Jasper chuckled and slapped his arm playfully.

 

Lauchlan scowled, there was nothing funny about memory loss that he could see, so the only reason that he was laughing had to be that there was something else funny here. Lauchlan’s heart sank to hide in his stomach.

 

“You promised me that you wouldn’t let me do anything I would regret!” Lauchlan snapped.

 

“Nothing happened did it?”

 

Lauchlan’s whole body went slack with relief, but he frowned as he studied Jasper’s face. It didn’t look like he was lying, but he had the best poker face in town and he had used it to separate all the cabbies from their money on more than one occasion.

 

“Oh, wait you’re kidding?” exclaimed Jasper as he misinterpreted Lauchlan’s frown. “I kept an eye on you all night, nothing could have happened!”

 

Lauchlan’s expression quirked into hopeful disbelief as Jasper fumbled to comb his memory of the night at the bar. The thought that he truly hadn’t seen anything was too good to be true, but that didn’t stop Lauchlan from desperately hoping.

 

Jasper frowned, and comprehension eventually dawned on his face

 

“Wait, I remember! I was talking to that woman, now what was her name? Gabriel? Gazelle? Grace? I don’t know it had a G in there and you… you were at the bar! I think,” said Jasper, tapping a finger against his chin, as was his habit when he was thinking. “You weren’t the only one there but the barkeep was busy trying to deal with a drunk who had no money, so I didn’t think anything would go wrong. It was pretty late by then and you were so out of it that you looked ready to fall asleep on the stool. I guess I must have gotten carried away taking to G and forgotten to check up on you again. Wait on, I never saw you go home did I? I’m sorry about that,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Lauchlan felt like jumping for joy.

 

“So, what happened anyway?” asked Jasper his brow pinched with curiosity, and Lauchlan gulped.

 

“I told you I can’t remember!” said Lauchlan as he desperately searched for a better story. He was _not_ going to talk about what really happened, not even to Jasper, _especially_ not with Jasper.

 

“Well did you get home alright at least?” asked Jasper innocently, but the friendly question was the last thing that Lauchlan wanted to hear. He scrambled for an excuse, any excuse to get Jasper off his back as quickly as possible.

 

“We don’t have time to talk about this now, you have to get going!” said Lauchlan, the words tripping over themselves as he spat out the hastily formed sentence. He could tell by the moment he said it that Jasper didn’t buy it, but Lauchlan was saved by the clanging of the local church tower announcing that it was now six o’ clock; the time that Jasper was supposed to be gone.

 

“Fair enough. But I want details when work’s over, alright?” said Jasper. He slapped Lauchlan’s shoulder in his customary farewell before heading back to his waiting hansom.

 

Lauchlan watched tensely as Jasper ordered his horse into a walk, and steered it out of the gate, forcing himself to act naturally as he answered Jasper’s mock salute with a small wave as he headed out the front gates. He sighed and wiped the nervous sweat from his brow with the back of his gloved hand. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jasper, hell, the man was the best friend he had now that his mentor Percival was gone, but that only added to the need for secrecy. Lauchlan still couldn’t imagine that many people found the idea of a man doing the things that he had done to Corbin acceptable and if he ended up taking rap for his actions then it would be just like Jasper to get himself caught in the proverbial crossfire, if he wasn’t one of the ones firing at him to begin with. Lauchlan didn’t think would be able to stand having that on his conscience on top of what he had done to Corbin.

 

Lauchlan spurred himself back into his work. By the time the day was over, Lauchlan was mentally and physically drained. The anxiety of knowing that Corbin would literally turn up whenever he felt like it had Lauchlan jumping at shadows before he would berate himself and throw himself back into work. The constant need to refocus and redouble his efforts to make up for lost time was taxing and he was falling asleep on his feet by the time Jasper returned for his ‘details’ giving Lauchlan the perfect excuse to escape the conversation.

 

Jasper made him promise to tell him what had made him so upset in the next morning. But he didn’t talk to Jasper the next day, or the day after. Every time Jasper started to ask questions about that night, Lauchlan managed to worm his way out of conversation and plummet back into his work, using it like a shield, but Jasper clued in and each time he became more demanding, asked more questions and looked right through Lauchlan’s excuses and stories almost as if they were made from glass, but he never did pry the truth out of him. Instead he would just give Lauchlan this concerned little frown, look him in the eye and ask,

 

“Are you _sure_ that’s right?”

 

Of course Lauchlan would lie through his teeth and say yes, making Jasper’s frown deepen so much that he was sure that he would end up giving the young man wrinkles. Lauchlan felt horrible for treating his friend that way but he couldn’t risk telling him, not when Corbin could turn up at any minute to claim his dues and out his shameful indiscretion to all their colleagues, and especially not when what was promising to be a long harsh winter was sitting on their doorsteps. Lauchlan consoled himself with the promise that he would tell Jasper about it after he and Corbin had settled their ‘debt’, providing that Lauchlan managed to survive the whole ordeal undiscovered. It was a cold comfort, but it was all that he had.

 

Thankfully, his work consumed even more of his time than it usually did with the preparations for the coming winter season under his supervision. Making busy drove off his anxiety as much as it drove him to exhaustion. As weeks past with no sign of Corbin showing his face at work or at home Lauchlan was becoming increasingly convinced that he wouldn’t come at all. It was entirely possible that he had just been playing with him or better still, that he didn’t know how to contact him, despite his claims.

 

As autumn gave way to winter, he was almost inclined to believe it.

 


	3. To Fuel the Fire

The first week of winter arrived with a bang; an almighty bang in the shape of the worst snowstorm the city had experienced in twenty years. The city had seen it coming of course, but preparations did not brace anybody for the sheer force of it. The clouds marched in from the ocean like an invasion. The wind came and went, screaming through the rafters and rattling the eaves one moment only to turn eerily still and almost tranquil the next. The snow was constant though, showering down its white payload at an impressive pace, smothering the city below in a thick blanket of white that turned homes into prisons and roads into glacial rivers of freezing slush. No one would work under these conditions, well, no one except for Lauchlan.

 

The company’s horses were all housed communally in barns. The barn Lauchlan was assigned to once had been a carpet-weaving factory, but the business had gone bankrupt when the city began importing cheaper goods from the continent. The whole complex went under the hammer and B&B bought the lot for a song.

 

The steam engines and machinery had been stripped out and sold for scrap long ago. The space had been partitioned off into stalls and corrals which housed Lauchlan’s sixty charges. The huge industrial space was open, cold and as secure as a prison when it came to the wind and rain, but that would be no comfort when the animals ran out of food. What other choice did Lauchlan have but to stay at work and care for them? Someone needed to do it and when push came to shove that someone always seemed to be Lauchlan. Which was exactly why Lauchlan was sitting on a uncomfortable wooden crate filled up with assorted food rations while he jealously thought of all his colleagues who were sleeping out the storm in their nice heated homes, most probably tucked up in nice warm hoes with their families and sleeping on soft comfortable beds while he was at work, alone, and only had hay bales to sleep on.

 

He’d tried to consol himself, thinking that he could easily be worse off. He had plenty of food, so much of it that it could last him more than a month if he rationed it carefully. That had to be more than what other people had. But then again, he only had so much surplus because the ten stable boys who he had personally assigned to be here helping him hadn’t shown up, which didn’t make things better at all so he supposed it was a bit of a moot point.

 

Lauchlan hated the cold; hated it with every scrap of passion as he could muster, but to be fair that wasn’t an awful lot. It made his limbs feel heavy and numb and it seeped past his eye patch into the empty socket, making the old scars ache and the useless muscles twitch. But save jumping into the stalls and cuddling with the horses there was little more that he could do. In fact, cuddling with the horses didn’t really seem like such a bad idea. They had adapted to the cold by casting aside their usual social nuances and were snuggling placidly with one another to keep warm.

 

Lauchlan had done all that he could for them, wrapping each one in warm woollen horse blankets and filling their troughs with feed. He has taken time to pair them up with other animals they were most suited to and they seemed grateful for the companionship during the violent chaos of the storm outside. There was a lull in the winds for the moment and the harried beasts took advantage of the calm, dozing where they stood. As welcome as their rest must have been to them, it left Lauchlan little to do aside from stoking the burning coals in his little iron brazier as he waited for his kettle to boil.

 

Lauchlan rubbed his hands together and clomped his feet against the cold flagstones in an attempt to get the feeling back into them.

 

It’s not as if he wanted something to go wrong. He just wanted something to do, somebody to talk to, anything really. He had spent two days working through this storm by himself and there was still no end in sight, so he felt justified by feeling rather morose about the whole affair. His legs were starting to feel numb and prickly from inaction so he stood and started to pace in circles around his brazier, weaving in and out of the crates of supplies that he had arranged around it. He wished that he had something more substantial to keep him warm but the barn was filled with hay and horse feed and would go up like a tinderbox if given half the chance. As such, there were only a few places that where it was safe enough to have an open flame, Lauchlan’s little corner being the warmest of them.

 

He wished he’d brought a book to read or some such thing, but he’d thought that he’d be too busy for reading.Frustrated at his short-sightedness, tried to stamp life back into his legs. The force of his hobnailed boots caused a loud clacking against the flagstone floor that echoed around the huge space. A gelding, Samuel was startled by the noise and he snorted and nickered in protest. Lauchlan stopped stomping the moment he noticed, fearing that the young and headstrong horse would spook, but the noise kept echoing around, reverberating like the clash of a gong. Samuel disturbed his spooning partner as he nickered louder and tossed his head. She jolted in response, snorting and stomping a hoof in annoyance. The other horses were roused awake by the scuffle and began snuffling softly to one another as they craned their necks and swivelled their ears around in search of the rackets source.

 

The banging continued to become louder and more insistent without Lauchlan’s input and with a start he realised that it wasn’t him making the noise at all. In fact it sounded like it was coming from outside, as if someone was beating against the outer wall. Lauchlan floundered in shock when he realised that that was _exactly_ what was happening.

 

The banging and clanging was reverberating through the thick walls of the building and echoing around the space, almost obscuring the muffled shouts of whoever was beating at the doors. Lauchlan cursed in disbelief _._ He briefly wondered what sort of madman would be out and about in this weather before he snatched up his lantern and launched into action, pelting toward the service door. The thunderous pounding of his heavy footsteps joined the knocking of the poor blighter outside and mingled into a chorus of noise as he barrelled across the huge industrial space with only one thought in his mind. There was no possible way for anyone to survive this weather for long. They would have a few hours at least, a night at the very most before they succumbed to exposure and died and there was absolutely no way in hell that Lauchlan was going to sit by in his nice, cold, flammable barn while some poor soul died out there!

 

As he grew closer to the far wall the noises grew far more distinct. There was a voice, a male voice, but whatever he was saying was drowned out by the obviously distressed beating of fists against the metal of the huge doors that barred the service entrance. The service entrance was designed to admit the horses and their hansoms out into the back enclosure for exercise and training as well as moving supplies in and out by wagon. The entrance was wide enough to fit two hansoms at once and was secured by a pair of inward swinging doors. They were very strong and he had been assured by his old mentor, Percival, that they were burglar proof which warranted all the time it took to work through the complicated process of locking and unlocking all the bolts, locks and trappings attached to the thing.

 

But for all the time and money it took to outfit the building, there was no amount of security that could stop the immense weight of the snowdrift from getting in. It was forcing the huge doors to sag inwards and the hinges to creak with strain as snow slowly pushed into the barn through tiny cracks between the doors and their frame. If Lauchlan opened them then getting the doors closed again would not be an easy task, but he had little choice; the man outside was growing frantic. Lauchlan could hear the tone of his shouting growing more and more insistent by the second. Not to mention that he sounded angry. In fact the man sounded more like he was scolding rather than pleading, which was odd given the situation to say the very least. Casting the thought aside, Lauchlan gave his side of the huge doors a hearty thump of his own, hoping to calm the man down a bit. The man on the outside stoped his frantic beating for a moment, before he began bashing his side of the door with renewed enthusiasm. His voice was even louder and crankier sounding than before, but it was rendered unintelligible by the noise.

 

“Who’s out there?” Lauchlan yelled, after taking a moment to catch his breath and shove his discomfort out of his mind. Honestly, he had no qualms about opening the barn to vagabonds at a time like this, but that still begged the question of why they waited two days to seek shelter.

 

“Hurra oop an et e een!” came the muffled reply, the sentence punctuated by the rattling of the door in its frame as the man outside continued to bash at it.

 

“Who are you!” yelled Lauchlan, now alarmed enough to raise his voice without having to think twice about it.

 

“Aklan! Eet eh een! Eets ‘oody freazin!” came the angry reply. Lauchlan was sure that the first two distorted syllables were supposed to have been his name and his stomach fluttered in relief. This must be one of the stable boys that were supposed to be helping him, or at least someone on staff. There weren’t any other people that knew his first name and had good reason to be here.

 

Lauchlan fished the huge key ring out from the breast pocket of his greatcoat and started sorting though the keys. There were dozens of keys to sort through: tin ones, iron ones, gilded ones, brass ones and even a little silver one that opened up the draw in the cupboard that held the bridal carriage tack. In a few moments, Lauchlan managed to find the sturdy brass key that he was looking for and brought it up to the first of the doors locks. After three turns, the lock clicked to signify that the deadlocked bolt had been drawn. Lauchlan was then forced to spend more precious moments to find the smaller but otherwise identical key he needed to unlock the second mechanism. The dim, flickering lighting did not help one bit and every moment he spent searching for the key caused the man outside to shout louder and beat harder against the door.

 

Lauchlan had no doubt that the man was cursing him, but given the circumstances he couldn’t fault him much. Finally, Lauchlan found the right key and managed to force the lock open. The door lurched inwards a few fractions the moment the lock was unlatched and it strained against the huge bolts that were still imbedded a foot into the ground. Lauchlan took another precious minute to find the little key to the padlock that held the two bolts in place, and another to steer the key into the lock with the man outside rattling the door. Once he managed to remove the thing and pocketed it, he jumped back, half expecting the door to launch itself open, but nothing happened. When he curled his finger abound the cold rods of iron he discovered to his dismay that no matter how hard he strained and pulled he just couldn’t draw the bolts, not with the weight of the door, the man and the snowdrift outside pushing on them and holding them in place.

 

Lauchlan struggled to cast aside thoughts of a frozen, needless death while he yanked on them in fruitless attempt’s to budge them. Lauchlan ran a hand through his hair and gnawed his lip as he combed his brain for some way to work around the blasted door and came up with nothing. All of the other doors were bolted in the same way, there was no way to rig up a horse to the blasted things and there were no windows, aside from some ventilation ducts that were securely grated. He could almost feel himself running out of options and smacked his palm against the door with a frustrated snarl.

 

Lauchlan took a deep breath, struggling to calm himself down and focus on the task at hand. They didn’t look bent or broken all he would really need was some muscle to get them open. More muscle than he had, but perhaps, a little leverage?

 

“I’ve got to go. I’ll be back in a minute!” shouted Lauchlan as he rushed back towards the horses stalls, trying to ignore the frantic muffled cry of “don’t lev meh ow ‘ere oo ‘oody ass’rd!” which drifted after him.

 

Lauchlan dived into the first tool rack he reached and in moments he found what he was looking for: a shovel. It smelt incredibly earthy and still had a crusting of horse manure caked to the end of it, but the handle was long, sturdy and just the right width to fit into the bent handles of the bolts. Now equipped with his pungent weapon he rushed back to the door where the poor man outside had almost worked himself into hysterics and was spouting unclear obscenities in a fervent tone.

 

“I’m back! I’m back!” shouted Lauchlan and the man outside went silent for a moment, which Lauchlan could only assume was out of relief before picking up his muffled tirade again a moment later.

 

Lauchlan didn’t even bother trying to make sense of the man’s shouts as he slotted the shovels handle into the hooked top of the bolts. He was glad that he had decided to wear his tough leather work gloves instead of his warmer ones, he had the feeling he would have ended up with friction burns. He gripped the wooden handle and gave the shovel an experimental tug. The bolts didn’t move visibly, but he felt something shift and start to give a little under his grip. Lauchlan changed his posture, bracing his legs against the door and tugged as hard as he could, throwing his weight against the stubborn, stuck bolts. The bolts moved in tiny, painful jerks under Lauchlan’s straining efforts. Little by little the jerks were getting longer; the increments increasing from miniscule to tiny to just plain small until they lurched free with an almighty scream of metal against flagstone and a shower of sparks that threatened to blind Lauchlan’s good eye.

 

The release of pressure was so sudden that Lauchlan lost his grip on the shovel handle and was sent tumbling backwards by his own momentum. Unhindered by the bolts at last, the doors flew open with a crash that rattled the eaves and startled the horses. The huge snow bank flooded inside like a miniature avalanche that spilled over the threshold and surged inside swallowing up everything in its path, including Lauchlan.

 

Lauchlan barely had a second before he was engulfed by the wall of white. He threw his hands up in a desperate bid to protect his head but it was no use at all. The snow flooded over him like a tidal wave, swallowing up his body and devouring it. For a few moments, all Lauchlan could do was curl himself into a defensive ball and hold his breath as the snow ripped over and around him. He felt something heavy being dragged over and past him by the torrent and he heard the lantern shatter as it was swept up in the tides grasp. The snow smothered and molested him with the force of its movement, finding its way into his clothes and his boots and to his absolute horror, it managed to worm its way under his eye patch and burned the hypersensitive skin there. Lauchlan flinched as he violently struggled against the white torrent, but the weight of the shifting tide pinned him to the ground as its onslaught continued at full force.

 

Lauchlan’s lungs felt as if they were going to burst out of his chest. The snow’s march ground to a halt. Without the force of the tide pulling on his limbs, Lauchlan managed to brace his feet against the ground and forced himself upwards through the heavy weight of the snow that had been deposited on his head and burst into the world above. He gasped lung-full’s of chilly that stung his chest, but he didn’t care. Just having the ability to breath at all was good enough for him. As his pounding heart began to still at last, he peeled the snow-coated glove off his trembling right hand and franticly fished under his eye patch, flicking the offending snow out with a grimace. If there was anything he loathed more than people seeing his disfigurement, it was things _touching_ it. The skin on the inside of his eye socket was never meant to be touched by anything, not ever. The thought of it alone made his skin crawl and his stomach heave.

 

Thankfully, only about a teaspoon full of the cold slush had managed to get under the patch. What was left of his torn eyelids had stopped it from getting into the socket. He thanked goodness for small mercies as the adrenalin sang through his system, his heart crashing against his ribs in a pounding, uneven staccato. He felt strangely lightheaded and giddy from all the energy rushing through his veins.

 

The snow was loose and slushy, but it gripped onto Lauchlan’s clothing as he clambered to his feet. He was coated in white, resembling a huge one-eyed yeti that hadn’t had nearly enough sleep. Lauchlan sighed, this was just fantastic.

 

The man from outside was flailing in the snow several paces away. The poor man must have had his feet knocked out from under him when Lauchlan opened the doors and been dumped there by the snow bank as it swept inside, much like it had pinned Lauchlan to the ground. Every time the man tried to get to his feet, the snow collapsed under him and he would teeter over and crash back into the snow, which barely smothered out his frustrated cursing.

 

Taking pity on his guest, Lauchlan waded through the snow towards him, taking careful measured steps on the perilously slippery flagstones. Thankfully, his boots had studded soles that spared him the indignity of slipping over onto his backside like his unfortunate guest was doing over and over again. When he reached the man, his uncoordinated flailing had developed into a full-blown tantrum; he clawed angrily at the snow and kicked randomly at the ground as his feet struggled and failed to find any purchase on the slick, icy floor.

 

He was literally digging himself a hole. The closer he got the stranger it seemed, and it was hard to tell if the ground was the problem or if it was the violent shivering if the mans limbs. The man seemed to notice him and began to direct his curses away from the snow and towards Lauchlan as he floundered helplessly like a fish flapping on the land.

 

“What? Do you think …” The man collapsed down face first into the snow again as his legs shot out behind him. He had to pause to spit snow out of his mouth “You think this is funny you… _hack!_ bastard!” The word bastard was punctuated by the man collapsing forwards yet again, his flailing legs kicking up a small blizzard of snow as he scrambled for purchase against the flagstones and received another mouthful of snow for his troubles.

 

Lauchlan bit back the immature chuckle that lurked behind his concern. He grasped the unsuspecting man by his underarms and hoisted him up onto his feet. The man’s hair was painted white by the snow that clung to it and pooled in the creases of his clothes, which hinted at being dyed a dark green beneath the white coating. The man spluttered and spat snow from his mouth as he launched half-formed curses into Lauchlan’s chest. His legs had yet to find solid ground and he squirmed in Lauchlan’s steady grip.

 

“Are you quite alright there?” asked Lauchlan. His friendly question was met by a pair of angry brown eyes that glared daggers right through Lauchlan’s adrenalin induced cheer and sliced his mood to the quick. They were very familiar eyes. Lauchlan had never seen another pair quite like the two in front of him now. Lauchlan’s jaw went slack. His breath caught in his throat. He loosened his grip on Corbin without even thinking. Without the strong grasp to support him Corbin fell straight through Lauchlan’s arms and collapsed arse first into the snow with a surprised squawk. His flailing legs cuffed Lauchlan’s shins on his way down, but Lauchlan was simply too gobsmacked to notice.

 

“You! You can’t be… how? No, why did… how did? How did you get here in the middle of that?” stammered Lauchlan swinging an arm out towards the whitewash of falling snow outside, still struggling to comprehend that _Corbin_ was _here,_ actually _here_ in front of him after he had almost managed to forget all about him and the promise he had made. The adrenaline began surging anew in his body as he remembered all the things that he had promised to do and realised that now he was actually going to have to do them.

 

“I strapped myself to a swallow and flew. How in hell do you think I got here? I walked,” stuttered Corbin, his speech fragmented by the chattering of his teeth. Lauchlan couldn’t believe his ears.

 

“You decided to walk halfway across the city in this? You must be mad, completely mad! There’s a blizzard out there you would have to be… dear Lord, your face is blue!” Lauchlan’s shock was overcome by concern as he clapped his bare hand over one of Corbin’s cheeks. The stubbly, pallid cheek was barely any warmer than the snow he was sitting in and his nose and lips were tinted a worrying shade of blue.

 

All sorts of warning signs started flashing in Lauchlan’s brain as his adrenaline forced his jumbled thoughts out of the fears of his memories and into the concerns of the present. If Corbin had walked here all the way from Coalford then he must have been outside in the cold for at least two hours, more if he had gotten lost which he must have done. The curtain of snow obscured absolutely everything to the point where you where Lauchlan was barely able to see his own hand if he brought it up to his face. Lauchlan was no doctor but he didn’t have to be one to know that this looked like very bad news.

 

With a renewed sense of urgency, Lauchlan hauled Corbin back onto his feet, kicking himself for not noticing his violent shivering before as he tried his best to keep him steady. But Corbin swayed in his arms and his shivering legs found no purchase in the slushy snow.

 

“Can you keep your balance?” Lauchlan asked, trying desperately to forget the debt for the time being, if only so that he could concentrate on keeping the man alive. Corbin grasped fistfuls of Lauchlan’s greatcoat the moment he was up on his feet again. His grip felt shaky and weak and was offering no support for his wobbly legs.

 

“Just get me out of this snow,” stuttered Corbin. It was probably the most polite thing he had said all morning, which was a cause for concern on its own.

 

Lauchlan found it difficult not to think about how nice Corbin’s rear had looked as he stooped down and gripped the curve of Corbin’s knees and hefted the heavy man over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry, an act which was met with a surprising lack of resistance. He waded clear of the snow as quickly as he could with Corbin’s heavy, shivering body slung over his shoulders and set him down on the first patch of clear flagstones he found.

 

“Come on, I’ve got a fire set up over there,” Lauchlan pointed past the rows of horse stalls towards his corner of the barn where the brazier was burning away, casting a warm halo of light against the walls of the barn. Without a word, Corbin pushed his body away from Lauchlan’s aura of warmth and into the chilly air again, rocking unsteadily back onto his heels.

 

For a moment he looked as if he would be alright, but then he took a step. His leg seemed to have ideas of its own and it buckled sideways as he shifted his weight onto it, causing him to stumble like a drunkard, Corbin cursed and tried to correct himself by dumping his weight back onto the other leg but it buckled too and he toppled downwards with an outcry of “Shit!” Lauchlan dived after him and managed to grab him by his flailing arms and haul him to his feet again just before he completely collapsed, but Corbin struggled against him and desperately tried to stand up on legs that would not support his weight.

 

“Calm down, I can just carry you!” Lauchlan said in a desperate bid to placate the man and keep him on his feet at the same time, but that only seemed to make him angrier.

 

“What in the name of? There is nothing wrong with me, I can walk just fine! I walked here for God’s sake!” he snarled in frustration as his legs continued to disobey him and he thrashed weakly in Lauchlan’s grasp like a small child throwing a tantrum. Lauchlan retightened his grip and wondered if Corbin was drunk as well as hypothermic. At the moment, it looked likely.

 

Lauchlan struggled to keep his grip on Corbin as he franticly wracked his brain for everything that he knew about exposure. He knew enough about the subject to know that having jelly legs like this was a very bad sign; a sign that meant Lauchlan didn’t have time to deal with Corbin’s tantrum if he was going to help him. With that thought in mind, Lauchlan acted, grasping Corbin around his knees again and hoisting him up and over his right shoulder before the man could stagger out of his grasp. Corbin was not happy with his development and he squirmed for all he was worth, swearing up a storm and beating against Lauchlan’s back with balled fists in an effort to escape. The cold had sapped Corbin’s strength out of him and the soft padding of Lauchlan’s greatcoat and the layers of woollen clothing he was wearing underneath were more than enough to protect him from Corbin’s frustration. His ears didn’t have the same luck however.

 

“Put me back down you bloody bastard! I’m not an infant, I’m not a cripple! Don’t treat me like a invalid you imbecillic…” On it went as Lauchlan trekked across the barn. Eventually, they reached his little corner and Lauchlan dumped the fuming man onto the supply crate that was closest to the brazier.

 

“This isn’t funny!” declared Corbin. The chattering of his teeth lifted the threat from his tone, but the indignation was still clear.

 

“I never said it was. What on earth compelled you walk halfway across the city, now of all times?” asked Lauchlan in the most soothing tone he could manage before he scurried away from Corbin’s side. He dumped fresh coals into the brazier from his fuel bucket and prodded it to life with the poker.

 

“It seemed as good a time as any,” Corbin muttered, he seemed to be calming down at last. He turned away from Lauchlan to spread his shaking hands over the crackling coals.

 

Lauchlan couldn’t believe what he was hearing and wondered how a snowstorm could be considered a good time for anything involving the outdoors.

 

“I’m just going to go get something. I’ll be back in a minute all right?” said Lauchlan as he finally remembered what Percival had told him to do in situations like this. Corbin acknowledged him with a grunt, deciding that the fire was much more important than Lauchlan was.

 

Lauchlan took his leave gladly and turned for the staircase that lead to the hay loft. The barn’s hay loft was almost as large and spacious as the ground floor. It was mainly used to store the titular hay but it was also where Lauchlan had made up his bed for the next week or two. It wasn’t much of a bed really. He had made a hollow in one of the huge square piles of hay bales by taking two of the bales out, and then dumping them long ways over the end of the hole it created to cover up his legs and give it some extra insulation.

 

He’d lined it with a few spare horse blankets along with a double-sized quilt and the woollen bedding that he had taken from his own bed, so the scratchy hay didn’t bother him too much. It was no goose down mattress, but it was warm enough for him to shed a few layers of clothing every night and was far more comfortable than the cold flagstones of the floor below, even with the heat of the brazier. Lauchlan scaled the pile of hay and clambered into his ‘bed’ searching for a moment before he retrieved a large copper water bottle that was kept inside a soft fleece bag along with two of the horse blankets and a spare pair of fluffy woollen bed socks. Items in hand, he hurried back to Corbin’s side.

 

Corbin was not in the best shape. The snow clinging to his clothing had melted and soaked him with cold, watery slush and his violent shivering had only gotten worse. Lauchlan cursed himself for not thinking to scrape the snow off before he set him down.

 

“Corbin, you’ve got to take your coat off for me” said Lauchlan, the irony that he was voluntarily asking the man to remove his clothes seemed to be lost on Corbin however, and he clutched his sleeves protectively, gawping at Lauchlan as if he was completely mad.

 

“No! It’s freezing!” he chattered, those expressive eyes going round with disbelief as he scoffed at Lauchlan.

 

“You’re soaking wet, Corbin. Look, I have some blankets for you,” said Lauchlan as he held up the hastily folded blankets for Corbin to see.

 

Corbin stared at them for a long moment as if he couldn’t comprehend what they were, but eventually he seemed to get the message and tried to unbutton the bottle green overcoat. His trembling fingers struggled with the with the task and he fumbled several timed before he gave up all together and pulled it off over his head, turning it inside out in the process. He tossed the wet garment at Lauchlan with a petulant scowl. The coat met its mark with a splatter before it slithered down, falling into a puddle at Lauchlan’s feet which slowly grew as the snow continued to melt. Lauchlan chose to ignore Corbin’s huff of victory.

 

“Take the boots off too, Corbin,” Lauchlan said in the most commanding tone he could muster. Thankfully, Corbin did what he was told without arguing this time, but his scowl deepened.

 

“I’m not a child you know,” Corbin stuttered. Lauchlan barely restrained himself from telling him not to act like one.

 

Lauchlan took great pleasure in shoving the first horse blanket over his head while Corbin was concentrating on trying to untie the bootlaces. The squawk of indignity he let out when Lauchlan scrubbed the blanket through his damp hair was well worth it.

 

The blankets were large enough to wrap around the back of a draft horse and then some, so Corbin swam in it. That didn’t stop Lauchlan from wrapping the other blanket around him for good measure. After taking a step back to look at his handy work, he had to admit that Corbin looked absolutely ridiculous. It was like he was a child trying to play ghost with a king sized bed sheet, or as if he had poked his head out of the top of a bell tent and gotten stuck there. If Corbin hadn’t been shooting him death glares, it might have been a bit endearing. It was really quite impressive that Corbin managed to look threatening at all given the state that he was in.

 

After a few long moments, Corbin shucked off his boots and kicked them out from under his woollen mound.

 

Lauchlan picked them up. He then tipped a good cup full of watery slush out of each of them, cringing in sympathy as he offered Corbin the dry bead socks. They were snatched from his hands and disappeared under the woolly mound of Corbin’s blanketed body before he could say anything about it. He did not get a thank you for his generosity.

 

Once Lauchlan reversed the coat back so that it was the right way out and set it in front of the fire to dry, he deemed the dressing over and he set about filling up the hot water bottle. The kettle had boiled over while he had been struggling with the door and was half empty now, but there was enough left in it to fill up the bottle and about half a cup’s worth left over. Lauchlan set the kettle aside for the mean time and carefully checked the water bottle for any scalding dribbles before he put it back into its fleecy bag and held it out for Corbin to take.

 

“Put this on your groin,” muttered Lauchlan quite aware of the blush that had sprung to his face and not quite believing that he had managed to say that sentence out loud. Corbin started at the bottle for a moment before he flicked his eyes up to examine Lauchlan’s face. His glare dissolved into the thin, pursed line of his lips which twitched erratically before they burst open and Corbin started cackling like a hyena.

 

“I can’t believe you actually said that” he managed to eke out between hysterical chuckles that sounded strangely choppy due to his shivering. Lauchlan’s blush deepened.

 

“I’m serious! You have arteries there. It’s what you’re supposed to do in these situations!” Lauchlan stuttered out in his defence, kissing his upper hand goodbye.

 

“Yeah, pfa, hahaha! Why don’t you put it down there for me then, hmm?” said Corbin, his arms shot out from under the blankets and he cupped his manhood under the layers of cloth in joking manner, almost tipping himself off the crate as he laughed at Lauchlan’s expense and patted his lap in what was probably intended to be a “come hither” motion. Lauchlan flinched away from the sight with his cheeks burning, fortunately the cold air was enough incentive for Corbin to tuck his arms back under the blankets and still himself reasonably quickly.

 

“This is serious, Corbin!” Lauchlan snapped, but his voice held little fire. Corbin’s childish and almost drunken behaviour was a worry in itself, it seemed so erratic and out of character.

 

“You could have died out there, and if you don’t warm yourself up you still might! So just… take it.”

 

The sentence started out determinedly enough but by the end Lauchlan just ended up holding the hot water bottle in Corbin’s direction and hoping that he would come to his senses and take the thing. Thankfully he did. Lauchlan watched it as it disappeared beneath the blankets. When the bottle found its new home Corbin made an oddly familiar moan beneath his breath that sent a flicker of heat down Lauchlan’s spine that settled in the pit of his gut. Lauchlan hastily distracted himself with the kettle, fussing with the lid and pouring the rest of the hot water into his mug which he pushed into Corbin’s hands.

 

“Drink that. I’d, uhh, better go shovel out the doorway and get it shut before the wind picks up,” Lauchlan stuttered before he fled from Corbin and the shapeless ghosts of memories that fluttered into his mind; memories of gripping tight and letting go and feeling so heavenly sated.

 

 


	4. Curiosity Killed the Cat

The task had seemed much easier in his mind than it turned out to be in practice. He knew that there was a lot of snow and therefore it would require a lot of work, but what he didn’t anticipate was the weather trying its hardest to make his job more difficult.

 

Every time he managed to make a dent in the huge mound of snow, more of it would tumble in from outside. It didn’t matter how far away from the door he shovelled it, the white slush just kept on getting replaced. After a long slog of monotonous work, Lauchlan could swear that the pile was actually bigger than it had been when he had started on it. When repetition didn’t improve the results, Lauchlan gave up and started pushing it inwards. He would get into trouble when his betters descended from on high and discovered a huge pile of snow in the middle of the doorway, but Lauchlan would prefer a harsh scolding in a week or two’s time over the freezing bite of the winds today, and he had no doubt that the wind would pick up again soon.

 

Thanks to this ingenious new strategy Lauchlan managed to clear the doorway and shut the doors tight against the weather with only a little work, which made Lauchlan feel foolish for not doing so in the first place.

 

Lauchlan longingly gazed at the warm glow that his brazier cast against the walls and contemplated going back and facing the man; he knew logically that he shouldn’t be so afraid of Corbin. Corbin was much smaller than he was and was rather sick, so there was no way that he would be able to force him into doing anything that he didn’t want to do. Even if he did, Lauchlan doubted he would be able to back up such a threat. He wasn’t some kind of damsel in distress after all. Years of hard work had made him strong and he thought himself capable of defending himself if the need ever arose, provided that firearms weren’t brought into the equation. Even so, something about the man just unsettled him, making his stomach squirm and his hands shake, even when Lauchlan knew he could overpower him if he needed. The promise he had made didn’t help him either, especially now that the urgency was gone and his adrenalin had lost its punch. He struggled with his fears for a moment before he gave up the fight and went back to shovelling his pile of snow, fussing with it and pushing it around so it was further from the doors. The activity kept him warm but it didn’t occupy his mind. It kept flittering back to the promise he had made all those weeks ago, and the ghostly memories that refused to become clear.

 

His worrying was cut short when his shovel struck something solid in the snow, he jabbed it curiously and it made a soft _thunk_ sound in response. Lauchlan scraped the snow back curiously, he couldn’t remember seeing anything in the doorway when he had opened them up, though he did admit to being rather distracted at the time. A few moments of scraping revealed a rectangle of smooth black peeking through the white. His curiosity piqued, Lauchlan crouched down and brushed away the snow by hand, the black turned out to be the face of a large, weathered suitcase which bulged so much that it threatened to burst open at any given moment.

 

Lauchlan dragged the heavy bag free of the snow and brushed it down as well as he could. It was worn and must have seen plenty of travel, but it was well cared for and smelled strongly of boot polish. The case was held firmly shut by a strong lock set into two brass plates, which winked in the dim light. On closer inspection what he had first passed off as a few scratches turned out to be an engraving, written in scrolling text that had been worn almost completely smooth by what must have been years’ worth of hands opening and closing the clasp. What ever the words said was undecipherable in the low light. His curiosity unsated, Lauchlan returned to his fretting, intending to procrastinate for a little while longer, at least until the horses were due for a new feed. But after only a few minutes, his shovel struck against another something buried in the snow. Lauchlan groaned and groped in the snow once more, retrieving another piece of luggage from the slush.

 

It was a different sort of bag this time, a large doctor’s case that was made of the same fine black leather and decorated with identical clasps to the suitcase. The bag wasn’t as worn as the suitcase was. In fact, apart from a few creases around the clasp, it looked to be in pristine condition.

 

Lauchlan frowned. He hadn’t expected Corbin to own something this nice, especially given the neighbourhood he lived in. He turned the bag around in his hands and gently brushed away the snow. It was definitely made to match the suitcase and the heavy weight of it seemed to shift fluidly as it moved. When he cleared the snow away he found a little plaque attached to the flap, just above the locked clasp that held the bag closed. It was inscribed with the same scrolling engraving that the suitcase had been, but this one hadn’t been worn down by countless years of hands touching it. The words were deep enough to catch the dim light and winked temptingly. Giving into his curiosity, Lauchlan brought the little plaque up to his eye to read the elegantly scrolling words.

 

“C.A. Scargill ”

 

Lauchlan blinked and reread the words to ensure that he had read them correctly, but “C.A. Scargill “was still what they read. _Corbin A. Scargill,_ Lauchlan tossed the name around in his mind for a few moments, but no matter how he pronounced the five short syllables he just couldn’t twist them to fit Corbin _._ Corbin by itself fit just fine, Lauchlan decided; it was abrupt, it was loud and it stuck in Lauchlan’s memory like a bramble, but adding _A. Scargill_ to the end of it just didn’t sound right at all. It sounded aristocratic and elegant, everything that Corbin just wasn’t.

 

Lauchlan jerked himself out of his critique of the name with a scowl. He hated it when people made assumptions about him but here he was doing it to Corbin anyway. It was on the verge of becoming habit, if a bad one. For all he knew Corbin could have bought them at a pawn shop or estate sale, though he still thought that they seemed a bit far from the budget of anyone living in a place like Coalford Crossing. Lauchlan set the case down on top of the suitcase and combed through the rest of the snow with his shovel, but if there was anything else in there he never came across it, which was both a relief and a bit of a disappointment. He was still struggling to figure out why Corbin had decided to walk from Coalford to here in the middle of the frigid snowstorm outside, and would have appreciated a further hint or two.

 

Corbin had _walked_ from Coalford crossing, to _here_ in the middle of a _snowstorm._

It was still nothing short of incomprehensible to Lauchlan, because what amount of pleasure was worth risking your life for?

 

Lauchlan was not so naïve that he didn’t know about the so called “recreationalists” who haunted the underbellies of any city large enough to hide them, and many that just didn’t bother trying to, but surely to two weren’t connected?

 

The cautionary tales his mother had told him as a boy had kept Lauchlan up for nights at a time from the terrible nightmares he’d suffered. She had a knack for making such innocent habits as smoking seem like paragons of evil. She had been a little fanatical in that regard, but given the rumours of people committing terrible crimes under the influence of things like seven percent solution and opium he supposed she had good reason to exaggerate. But even in retrospect, threatening him with the promise that his brain would turn into porridge and dribble out his ears if he so much as touched anything like opium felt like an overly harsh lesson for a six year old. He hadn’t been able to look at porridge the same way for months, yet alone eat it. Even now, Lauchlan still tended to touch one of his ears whenever he thought about the subject.

 

Lauchlan noticed what he was doing a moment later and shoved the offending hand into his pocket. The two had nothing in common, not at all. You could buy opium or heroine from the corner store and no body would bat so much as an eye, but sodomy was a different beast all together. At least there would be no need to fear his brain turning into cereal on him.

 

That vein of thought didn’t reassure him very much. Lauchlan would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, in fact, Lauchlan would be lying if he said he wasn’t _terrified_ by the prospect of the promises he’d made now that it seemed the time to fulfil them and that fear drowned out any logical thought that was contrary to it.

 

Before it had been easier to rationalise it away, make the things that he was going to do seem trivial, casual and throw away, but Corbin’s appearance had ruined that comforting illusion. Because really, people didn’t walk through almost-blizzards for hours just for something that was trivial, do they? So that could only mean that there was something else here that he was missing. Something that made the, _things_ , Lauchlan had promised hold so much more weight than they had held before.

 

Lauchlans grip on the shovel was turning his knuckles white as his emotions swirled around his brain, whipping up a confused maelstrom of nervousness, fear, anger and simple confusion that dragged the rest of him along for the ride.

 

Corbin had made him promise to give up _“a few hours of his life”_ and yet he had come here with luggage, a sensible thing to do when the snow storm outside was due to rage for a week or more, but that meant that Corbin must have wanted to _stay_ for a week or more.

 

No, Corbin would _have_ to stay for a week or more. There was no way Lauchlan could let him out there until the snowstorm and the attached threat of death by exposure was gone. His heart sank as Lauchlan realised that he had been manipulated, that he would be stuck here with the one man he had wanted to just forget about for goodness knows how long and the man had planned it; _planned_ to come here and now when Lauchlan had no chance to hide from his promise.

 

He flung the shovel into the snow with a snarl of frustration. It cut through the innocent white slush like a hot knife through butter, clanging against the flagstones beneath. Lauchlan watched the snow vibrate as the sound of the shovel rang. His fists clenched and he focused on taking deep, angry breaths that whistled through his teeth as he struggled to calm the fiery, indescribable emotion that was coursing through his veins and making his heart pound in his ribcage. He tried to convince himself that he would be alright, but, no matter how much he reminded himself that Corbin was small, that Corbin was sick and that Corbin wouldn’t, _couldn’t,_ hurt him he just couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had found Corbin when he had woken up that morning, bruised and battered by his own hands. All his life he had been so sure that he would never do that, never even be _capable_ of doing that to another person, not in his wildest dreams. But he’d done it.

 

If he didn’t know what he was capable of doing then how on earth could he know what Corbin was going to do?

 

Christ, now it was going to be _his_ turn.

 

 _But Corbin did say it wouldn’t hurt,_ quipped a small voice from a neglected corner of Lauchlan’s mind, the same corner that hadn’t minded the little farewell he had been treated to.The voice cut through Lauchlan’s turbulent emotions and jarred his anger in its tracks, replacing it with uneasy reassurance as he repeated the memory of the promiseover in his mind, just in case.

 

 _“It’s not going to hurt one bit, that much I assure you,”_ Lauchlan thought that was what he had said, in fact the more he thought about it the more sure he was that it was definitely what Corbin had said to him, what Corbin had _promised_ him.

 

Some of Lauchlan’s fears leached away and with a deep breath, Lauchlan managed to get a hold of his emotions again, compressing his fear down into more manageable portions. Of course, he would still have to do it, but the promise gave him an out. If it did hurt then Corbin, technically, would have broken his side of their promise. As stupid as that sounded, that little loophole was all Lauchlan would really need to excuse himself out of the promise with his conscious intact, and if it really didn’t hurt then Lauchlan supposed he would just have to grit his teeth and bear it. Not much of a prospect, but it was all he had to cling to.

 

Well, he had wished for company _._ For a few moments, he just stared down at the scrawled name that winked at him in the light, contemplating that maybe he could just stare it away.

He eventually managed to convince himself that it may not be so bad as he thought. At least secrecy was assured, as he doubted that anyone else on earth would be mad enough to travel in this weather _._

Lauchlan grasped the bags with shaking hands and desperately swallowed down the lump in his throat. A promise is a promise and a debt is a debt, and while Corbin may not have seemed to be the most pleasant person in the world he seemed sound of mind enough.He determinedly trying to forget his earlier behaviour for the sake of some much needed peace of mind.

 

But the sight that greeted him back at his fire put his fears to rest at last.

 

At some point between Lauchlan’s departure and his return, Corbin had slipped off the crate and onto the floor where he had curled up in front of the brazier and fallen asleep. He had drawn his knees up against his chest and folded the blankets so tightly around himself that he looked like a chinchorro mummy, he might even be mistaken for one if it weren’t for the soft snuffling of his breaths against the woollen blankets and the healthy flush of blood that had returned to his rough, stubbled cheeks.

 

Lauchlan gently set the baggage on the floor next to Corbin’s discarded boots and gingerly sat down on his crate again. It truly was amazing, only a few minutes ago, Lauchlan had been loathing coming face to face with Corbin, but now?

 

It just didn’t seem as frightening anymore.

 

Lauchlan’s mind had puffed up Corbin, and under the influence of his foul language and quick-fire temper, Corbin had stopped being a man and turned into the big bad wolf, but big bad wolves didn’t curl up around fires like old, sleepy cats and snuffle in their sleep. They didn’t walk through snowstorms until their lips were blue and they certainly didn’t look so utterly soft and helplesswhen they were sleeping.

 

When he had met Corbin had been a mess, an ugly battered mess that Lauchlan had made, right now Corbin didn’t look like a mess, or the big bad wolf and not even a drunken mistake. He just looked like Corbin, a man who was just as human and faulted as he was.

 

Lauchlan took in the soft creases where his brow was constantly pinched or frowning and the crow’s feet around his eyes, with his muscles relaxed like this Lauchlan could see that the man wasn’t as old as the creases of his brow implied, he was probably only just in his thirties, perhaps less. Lauchlan supposed that his stressed lines must have been his fault, at least partly. Lauchlan had given him good reason to scowl after what he had done to him.

 

He felt a fresh pang of guilt twinge his gut. Staring at Corbin while his guard was down started to feel like an invasion of his privacy so he forced his eye down onto his lap and tried to choke out the guilty memories that plagued him.

 

He desperately trying to derail his train of thought before it took him back to that night, and decided to set out new feed for the horses but his distraction was cut short by his own stomach which gurgled loudly enough to prick the horses’ ears. Lauchlan pressed his hands to his chest as the noise dragged on, making his guts feel suddenly empty. When his errant stomach’s complaint gurgled into silence, Lauchlan glanced back to Corbin, worriedly chewing his lip and clutching his chest in the hope that the noise wouldn’t wake up Corbin.

 

He seemed oblivious though. He made no sound in his sleep except for his even, soft snores and made no movement at all, not even a flutter of his eyelids. As Lauchlan turned to try and creep away from the fire again his stomach launched another complaint of malnourishment, a rumbling growl loud enough to earn a snort from the nearest horse.

 

Lauchlan irritably clutched it as he pivoted on his heel and headed back to the fire, deciding that a little human feed was probably in order first. On that trip his stomach remained blissfully silent.

 

Despite his stomach’s protests, Lauchlan didn’t have much of an appetite, probably due to stress or something similar and he was in no mood for anything rich. All he really wanted was something quick and filing to shut his stomach up. Porridge, perhaps and his stomach groaned in agreement. Lauchlan couldn’t help but think it was a bit ironic, given the circumstances.

 

Porridge was a very easy meal to make. The recipe was so simple that even Lauchlan, a man who could set boiling water on fire with his level of culinary skill, could make a good porridge with relative ease provided he had all of the ingredients that he was familiar with. So he was quite dismayed to discover that instead of regular milk, he had powdered milk. It was in a large, square jar that had been tucked in a crate between a carton of eggs that were rapidly approaching the end of their edible lifespan and a similar jar filled with apple preserves. The jar was decorated by a blocky, stamped image of a black and white heifer suckling a small calf that seemed to be an exact duplicate of itself. The image was framed by the words “Premium Quality Powdered Milk” written in bold, printed lettering. Lauchlan turned the jar over in his hands looking for some indication of how he was supposed to turn the powder back into something resembling liquid, but found only a blurb declaring that the product was “of finest quality” and that it “Has a shelf life of over 12 months” which didn’t help him any. He turned the jar upside down in desperation, but the only thing he found was the tiny corpse of a flea that had been crushed under the weight of the glass and was still stuck where it had died. Lauchlan made a mental note to have the blankets laundered and the horses brushed for fleas as soon as the weather permitted.

 

Not knowing what else to do Lauchlan broke the jars seal and sniffed curiously at the contents. As he inhaled the white powder shot up his nose and Lauchlan reeled back in shock at the sudden blockage. The irritating powder made his eye and the useless tear duct water as he pinched his nostrils shut in a desperate bid to stop himself from spraying the content of his sinuses all over what was going to be his dinner. The powder burned his nose and he couldn’t stop his diaphragm from convulsing as he struggled to breathe normally while furiously wiping the white powder off his face with one hand and holding the jar out at arm’s length with the other. He managed to drag a handkerchief out from one of his many pockets and tried to blow his nose without making the embarrassing honking noise that he was prone to do, thankfully the snot his sinuses were producing was so watery that he cleared his nose in an almost soundless way, but his convulsing diaphragm made him sneeze the moment that he tried to inhale through his nose again. The force of it was enough to make his whole body shake as he sneezed and sniffled into the handkerchief, helpless to prevent the small fit of sneezing that followed the first.

 

His sinuses slowly quieted, and he took the opportunity to dab at his eye and his socket with the opposite corner of the handkerchief before he tucked it back into his pocket again. Feeling a bit reproachful, he reinspected the jar in his hand. It was missing an inch’s worth of powder now, some of it he had inhaled while the rest had spilled down his front or onto the floor when he had been struggling with his sneezing fit. Lauchlan angrily crammed the lid back onto the jar and dumped the thing onto the top of the crate while he when to fetch his billy can and some water, frustrated by the lack of instructions. He was close to stomping, but he remembered the need for quiet at the last second and forced himself to adopt a softer, gentler gait, though he doubted that anything he did could wake Corbin if his sneezing fit hadn’t.

 

Lauchlan slowly calmed as he sorted through one of the crates, fishing out two tin spoons, some bowls and a wooden stirring rod for the porridge.

 

Carefully, he opened the jar and poured it in what he guessed was the right amount. When he tapered off the flow it sent a plume of white dust into the air that tickled Lauchlan’s abused sinuses. The little pile of dust that was formed in the bottom of the billy seemed small and nowhere near substantial enough for two men, so he doubled it, and then added some drinking water hoping that was what he was supposed to do.

 

Once he’d stirred it, Lauchlan didn’t think that he had made it right. The stuff smelt like milk, though that might be because of the powder plastered to the inside of his nose and not the actual mixture. It looked like milk too, or at least it did after he had stirred it, but the texture was wrong. It seemed thin and far too watery to be proper milk. Lauchlan set the stirring rod to the side and peeled off a glove. He skimmed a naked finger across the surface of the not-quite-milk and licked the moistened digit. He spluttered in surprise and without a thought he shoved his mouth into the crook of his elbow and tried to cough the taste out. It didn’t taste bad, per say, but it didn’t taste like milk either. It just tasted like slightly creamy water, with the added benefit of a tingling, sour aftertaste and a strange powdery sensation that caked to the back of his throat like plaster.

 

When he recovered, Lauchlan gave the pot a more vigorous stir in the hope that the taste was only due to some of the powder not dissolving properly, but the consistency didn’t change and Lauchlan wasn’t game to have another taste.

 

Lauchlan decided that some sugar ought to fix it, who was hoping that the small scrap of culinary skills he possessed would be enough to salvage his dinner, if not his pride.

 

When he had the little brown bag in hand something caught him from the corner of his eye; a small, round can with “Sweetened Condensed Milk” written across the label in bright blue. He was so frustrated with himself that he felt ready to start tugging his hair out, to think he had spent all that time and effort fussing around with the powdered kind when he could have just as easily used the condensed kind, especially since he _knew_ how to use the condensed kind! Feeling immensely stupid for not writing up an inventory sheet when he had first gotten his supplies, Lauchlan snatched up the can along with the can opener that was resting innocently on a tin of biscuits and silently fumed as he returned to the billy. He spooned a few generously stacked spoonfuls of sugar into the almost-milk and gave it a frustrated stir that caused it to slosh around and lap haphazardly at the rim of the billy and hiss on the coals.

 

Full of trepidation, he tasted it. It tasted much better now that the sugar had covered up the sour undertones, but it still gave him that strange fuzzy feeling in the back of his throat and the consistency of it felt far too watery when he pushed the stirring rod through it. He punched a hole in the can of milk with the sharp point of the can opener and poured in all of the sluggish, creamy dairy product without a second thought, when the flow tapered off he eagerly licked the dribbles of the sweet creamy substance off the sides of the can, carefully avoiding the hole he had punched in it.

 

As a child he had almost cut the tip of his tongue clean off by he sticking it into a hole in a can very similar to this one while he was trying to get the last of the sweet treat out of it. The punctured hole had acted just like a live mouse trap and Lauchlan’s tongue had been firmly trapped in the needle-sharp prison for thirty long, petrifying minutes while his mother had delicately cut up the can from around it with a pair of bolt cutters. Safe to say that he was not game to repeat the experience, no matter how delicious it was.

 

When he finished “cleaning” the outside of the can he tested the should-be-milk again and it finally tasted like proper milk; creamy with that smooth, soothing texture. Between the brown sugar and the sweetened condensed milk it was sweet enough to rot his teeth and keep him up for the rest of the night, but by this point Lauchlan couldn’t care less. He marched back over to the crates with the billy and after a moment he lugged the sack of rolled oats out from one of the crates and poured them into the billy, filling it to the same level as the milk. He gave it a stir before he set it down next to the wooden crate to soak for a few minutes.

 

Lauchlan eased off his boots as he waited. His coat was thick and had a waterproof lining that had stopped most of the melted snow before it managed to penetrate into the layers he was wearing underneath, but his boots and trousers weren’t so lucky. His socks were soaked through and the leather of his boots were just as wet. When he upended them, a good deal of water came out along with a few pieces of hay that had managed to get in there on his trip to the hayloft. He kicked his boots closer to the fire to dry them. He shivered pitifully as he peeled off his socks and wrung them until they twisted dry and then used them to scrub the dampness from his shivering feet before he rung them out again and shoved them back on. They were still damp and the evaporation of the snow from his pants and socks was enough to make his whole body cold, but he didn’t have any other boots he could put on and he didn’t want to leave the warmth of the fire to go and get a blanket.

 

He prodded the porridge thoughtfully, adding some sultanas to the mix as an afterthought. The oats were swelling up and forming sticky clumps in the bottom of the billy, forcing the sultanas up to float at the surface despite Lauchlan stirring them in for the second time. Lauchlan’s stomach began to complain again in earnest. The twisting, empty sensation of hunger was finally kicking Lauchlan’s appetite into action, making his mouth slowly water at the thought of dinner.

 

Dinner with Corbin.

 

That was not a something Lauchlan ever thought he would be doing with another man, at least not in the romantic sense of the term. Could this… situation, even be viewed as romantic? He never thought he’d ever end up making meals for anyone except himself, partially out of fear of giving the unfortunate victim food poisoning, yet alone serving someone that he was going to… that he had slept with. In any other context this would be considered romantic, but then again porridge wasn’t exactly fine dining.

 

Lauchlan was used to simple, robust food as he lacked the skills to cook anything else, but he hadn’t the time to cook much of anything with the hours he worked so he would pay the neighbour’s housekeeper (a young, pretty girl named Teresa, who was barely out from under her mother’s protective wing) a half-penny each day for an extra portion of whatever meal she made for her employer’s family. They would always have food that was garnished and dressed up with so many herbs and spices that the meals resembled some form of art more closely than the ingredients they were made from. It had been difficult enough for Lauchlan to tolerate the stuff for as long as he had, but Ida had liked it. Why she liked it so much was nearly unfathomable, something to do with making impressions and showing status that Lauchlan still couldn’t understand, but her father made more money in a day than Lauchlan did in a month so he supposed that she must have known what she was talking about. All he cared was that it was actually edible, which was more than what could be said about his own cooking.

 

He pushed out the memory of Ida with all the resolve he had. The painful, happy memories were too much to bear on his own.

 

Lauchlan’s stomach growled, making the most furiously guttural sound yet he had heard yet and offered him a convenient distraction. He swallowed dryly, returning his mind to the present with a deep breath and a shake of his head.

 

He gave the thickening porridge a prod and decided that it would simply have to do, his stomach might start a rally if he ignored it any longer and his shivering legs would defiantly appreciate being closer to the fire.

 

He took the billy and gingerly set it down in the mouth of the brazier, pushing down on the rim and twisting it slightly so that it sat stably in a shallow indentation in the burning coals.

 

Lauchlan’s legs began to return to a more comfortable temperature as he stood far closer to the fire than was strictly necessary and stirred the thickening porridge. As the milk came to the boil, it sent out curls of sweet scented steam that wafted out into the chilly barn. The smell was not helping Lauchlan keep his stomach quiet and it gurgled in anticipation of the meal that was simmering in front of him. He rocked on his heels as he struggled to ignore his twinging gut and the shivering of his legs as the damp slowly evaporated out of them.

 

There was a quiet snort of breath on the floor beside Lauchlan’s left ankle and a wheezing grunt of exhaled air as Corbin returned to the world of the living. He blinked, gazing blearily into the coals of the fire as he stretched his limbs within the confines of his blankets for a few moments before he shot out an arm and clamped it over the arch of Lauchlan’s foot as it rocked back to the ground.

 

“Stop that, it’s annoying,” he grumbled, his eyelids seemed ready to droop back closed and return him to sleep again, but he struggled up into a sitting position and slowly shook his head back and forth as if trying to shake out his weariness. He hissed as the bones of his neck cracked stiffly, no doubt making his nerves prickle. The folded coat had left a button shaped imprint in his cheek and his hair looked like a bird’s nest, which made Lauchlan smile despite the circumstances. In repayment for the unwittingly provided amusement, he obediently forced his legs to still.

 

Corbin seemed satisfied and released Lauchlan’s foot. He raised his arms above his head as he yawned, causing his shoulders to make an audible pop as he flexed his arms back and rolled them.

 

“Why did you let me sleep on the floor?” he grunted in complaint as he tenderly eased the cricks out of his neck with his hands and the slow, tentative movements of his head. His eyes became a little more alert as he sniffed the air and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips, a movement that made Lauchlan’s breath hitch. “And why does it smell like a bakery in here?” he amended, sounding a bit less grumpy than he had before as he took curious sniffs of the steam that wafted down from the brazier.

 

“I’m making porridge,” Lauchlan explained, and he found himself staring as Corbin unfurled the blankets from around his body. He plucked the hot water bottle out from between his legs where it had been squeezed in place, staring at it with a look of confusion in his eyes before he seemed to either remember how it had got there or simply ceased to care. Corbin stretched out his legs languidly, curling his toes as the muscles of his calves tensed and trembled beneath the thick brown pants. He leaned his torso backwards to rest on his elbows and he arched his neck back, showing off the bulge of his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down in the flesh of his throat. He rolled the kinks out of his back and neck, the strain making the muscles of his stomach noticeably tense and shift beneath the wool of his black pullover.

 

With the final crick in his spine released, Corbin rose back up into a sitting position before Lauchlan could tear his gaze away and his eye caught every motion of his legs and chest as they moved, tensing and releasing. A flicker of a memory surfaced in his mind, he had held that body close and watched it as it writhed and heaved and arched under his touch, his kisses and his… Lauchlan tore his eye away from Corbin and glued it onto the bubbling porridge which he stirred furiously, struggling to convince himself that the heat pooling below his belt was just the brazier’s doing.

 

“I found your things by the way,” Lauchlan blurted, eager to distract Corbin from his blush. “They got a bit wet but I don’t think you lost anything, unless you had other bags of course,” he said nudging his head to the right where the bags he found in the snowdrift were still sitting, and avoided all eye contact.

 

There was a grunt, and then Lauchlan caught a glimpse of Corbin rising to his feet with the blankets draped over his shoulders before he passed behind him and into his blind side. Lauchlan ignored the rustle of movement and the click of a latch that he heard behind him and diligently stirred the porridge as it boiled down to a thick, creamy substance that clung to the rod as he dragged it through. _Almost ready_ he thought, feeling strangely nervous even while his stomach grumbled in anticipation.

 

“Was that noise you?” asked Corbin incredulously, his voice sounding out from somewhere behind Lauchlan’s back.

 

As if on cue, Lauchlan’s stomach gurgled again, this time louder than before. Lauchlan clutched his midsection self-consciously as he heard a chuckle from somewhere to his right.

 

“It sounds like you have a bear stuffed down your shirt!” laughed Corbin’s disembodied voice.

 

“It’s been a long day,” Lauchlan said, hastily trying to recover the confidence he had not a moment before. He tried to will his stomach silent, but it seemed to take great pleasure in rebelling against his wishes and gurgled regardless. The chuckle sounded again, this time much closer to his right side and Lauchlan jolted as he felt a shoulder bump against his arm, dropping the wooden rod into the billy in his surprise. He wheeled around with his heart pounding and came face to face with Corbin who peered up at him with an eyebrow cocked. _Of course it’s him._ Lauchlan struggled to bring his breathing back to normal. _Really, Lauchlan, who else could it be?_

“Don’t do that, alright? Don’t ever do that!” Lauchlan stuttered as the nervous drumming of his heart slowly fluttered back to a normal pace.

 

“Do what?” Corbin asked with an innocent shrug of his shoulders, and Lauchlan spluttered in disbelief.

 

“You blindsided me!” snapped Lauchlan.

 

Corbin only stared with that eyebrow hiked up and Lauchlan floundered under the implication that Corbin didn’t seem to care.

 

“You don’t… do you have any idea how unnerving it is? To have someone there but to be unable to see them? To not know what they… it… It’s just…” he struggled to articulate the intense unease that he felt in his bones knowing that there was something right beside him that he could not see. His speech stumbled as the words he was searching for scattered away from his grasping mind.

 

“Look… can you just stay where I can see you, _please?_ ” Lauchlan said, giving up on trying to explain his feelings all together. He had enough trouble trying to get his insubordinate stable boys to respect his wishes and he was the man who payed them, so he doubted taking up the old argument again would be worth the effort.

 

But, despite his misgivings, he was determined not to let Corbin walk all over him again, especially not on this particular topic. So, with a sense of foreboding sinking in his stomach, Lauchlan tried to harden his glare causing Corbin’s other eyebrow to hike up, joining its partner on the summit of his brow. Corbin stared up at him with exasperation clearly displayed across his face as he met Lauchlan’s eye. Lauchlan stubbornly held the eye contact, trying (and failing) to look imposing as the sheer power that Corbin effortlessly restrained behind that cocky glare sent his stomach squirming in his chest and a knot tightening in his throat, but his fragile nerves held out by a thread. Corbin held the stare effortlessly and for a long minute he seemed to size him up, weighing the merit of his stumbling words behind those ruthless brown eyes. In a split second something seemed to snap behind them and the contact between them was lurched away, making Lauchlan’s stomach flip as if he had been punched in the gut.

 

“Alright,” Corbin huffed, dragging the two syllables out as if they were tangibly heavy. He threw up his hands and rolled his eyes in an overly melodramatic gesture of surrender, but he quickly crossed his arms across his chest to hold the blankets in place as he strutted around him. Lauchlan followed the movement with his eye before he came to a stop just to his left. He waved his hands, gesturing to the place where he was standing and fixed him with another unrepentant look.

 

“Is this better, oh paranoid one?” he asked, his tone was snide and the title was no doubt meant to be hurtful but the implication sailed right over Lauchlan’s head.

 

“Yes, much.” He sighed and turned back to the porridge which was starting to turn browner than it rightly should be. He stirred it hastily, scraping the oats up from the bottom of the billy before they burned, and gave it a taste. It was much sweeter than he usually took it but otherwise it was good.

 

“Would you like some porridge? This is ready,” he asked, glancing at Corbin who leaned in and took a disinterested sniff.

 

“Alright, if I must,” he remarked, retreating from the fire side and sitting down on the closest crate, crossing his legs and covering them up with the blankets.

 

Lauchlan wondered what that had been about as he took the billy off the burning coals, feeling rather miffed that his hospitality had been delivered a blow for no apparent reason. He set out the wooden bowls on the flagstone floor and carefully spooned the hot, sticky mush into them, taking care not to spill any and trying to ensure that both bowls received equal amounts of the swollen sultanas. Within moments he had a hot and almost over flowing bowl of food in each hand and was desperately trying not to spill any as he walked Corbin’s way, his damp legs feeling the winter’s bite more and more with every step he took away from the heat source, even if it was only a few feet.

 

By the time he reached Corbin’s crate his knees were knocking together ever so slightly. He hadn’t trembled this badly before, and he was beginning to grow concerned _._ He held out a bowl for Corbin to take, longing to be back at the fireside. Corbin looked down his nose at the food for a moment before he took the bowl out of Lauchlan’s hands, clutching it against his chest and letting the steam curl into his face as if trying to breathe in all of its warmth. Lauchlan wearily flopped down beside him, his legs too cold to carry him any further. The warmth of Corbin’s body against his side was very welcome.

 

“Could you have made it any thicker?” Corbin asked sarcastically, he stared at the metal spoon dangling between his fingers as he gently shook it back and forth. The porridge clung to the utensil like glue, but gravity gripped at it and it slowly stretched downwards forming a long sticky stalactite that swung back and forth for a few moments before it snapped and plopped back into the bowl. Half of the oats were left behind, still clinging to the spoon.

 

Lauchlan looked at his own bowl self-consciously, He had always made his porridge this way. He thought that everybody did, but then again, he was a far cry from a professional cook. Suddenly feeling self conscious _,_ he picked up his own spoon and took a mouthful of his labours. He chewed the porridge slowly, savouring the sweet aftertaste of it as it went down, its warmth seeped through the lining of his stomach and leeched into the rest of his chest, instantly improving his mood.

 

“I’ve always liked it this way,” he said with a shrug. “Don’t you take it thick?” he asked as an afterthought, before loading up his spoon again. Corbin snorted into his bowl, chortling uncontrollably for a moment before he clamped a gloved hand over his mouth and smothered out the sounds. Lauchlan stared at him, unsure of what was supposed to be so funny.

 

“You seriously have no idea what just came out of your mouth, do you?” said Corbin between snorts of laughter. Lauchlan looked at him puzzled. Corbin raised his eyebrows and stared back, waiting for some kind of validation which made him even more confused. After a moment, Corbin seemed to realise that Lauchlan was oblivious and he huffed in exasperation. “Of course you wouldn’t,” he sighed as he finally shovelled a spoonful of porridge into his mouth. His eyes widened at the taste.

 

“Got bit of a sweet tooth, haven’t you?” he mumbled, he hadn’t swallowed before he spoke, and a single oat slipped out of his mouth and clung to his top lip. Lauchlan was about to point it out when Corbin’s tongue flicked out to reclaim it. The movement sent a shiver down Lauchlan’s spine, but he composed himself quickly.

 

“I had to use sweetened condensed milk as well as sugar, so it’s a bit sweeter than I usually make it,” he said and Corbin hummed in answer. Lauchlan took that as a cue to stop talking and focused on emptying his bowl, struggling not to dwell on all of the questions that were ricocheting around in his mind.

 

The meal crept along in awkward silence, punctuated by the scraping of the spoons against bowls and the smacking of lips as they ate. Lauchlan’s legs continued to tremble in the cold air, his muscles seizing up so uncomfortably that he began to fear he would develop frostbite. After taking a few hearty mouthfuls of the steaming porridge he set it aside and tugged his own legs up into a cross-legged position, draping the sides of his greatcoat over his knees in an attempt to save a little heat. He had turned to retrieve his bowl when Corbin pinched his coat and twisted a piece of the coat between his fingers, Lauchlan yelped in surprise and swatted at the hand that grasped at him, but Corbin was unmoved and scrutinised the steady trickle of water that leeched out from the fabric. He snatched his hand away when the chilly water soaked into his gloves and nipped at the tips of his fingers. He shook it franticly, trying to flick off the moisture clinging to it.

 

“What happened? You decide to take an ice bath with all your clothes on?” Corbin asked with an incredulous sneer on his face. He warmed his hands by cupping them around his steaming dinner bowl, a motion which Lauchlan didn’t hesitate to copy. Corbin looked Lauchlan up and down, his eyes settling on Lauchlan’s shivering legs. He sighed in exasperation. “Idiot,” he quipped with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head.

 

Lauchlan coughed around his mouthful of porridge in his affronted surprise, almost losing his dinner as he cleared his throat and fixed Corbin with the most withering glare he could muster, which wasn’t particularly withering at all if Corbin’s amused smirk was anything to go by.

 

“It’s not as If I had a choice, was it? It was either stay nice and dry while you froze to death thanks to your lack of common sense or put my neck out and save you,” grumbled Lauchlan as he shivered miserably.

 

Corbin harumphed and jabbed Lauchlan’s chest with the handle of his spoon.

 

“Well, I didn’t ask you to go running off for god knows how long doing god knows what while you were there. You could have easily stayed by the fire with me and gotten dry before you went and did… what ever it is you did,” he huffed, waggling his spoon to emphasize his point before returning it to its intended purpose.

 

“I had to shut the doors, remember? If I didn’t we would all freeze the moment the winds pick up,” Lauchlan retorted. His confidence was bolstered by the sound of the eaves softly rattling outside, signalling that the next onslaught of the elements was getting ready for the spring. Corbin looked pensive for a moment before he relented, taking a step down from his metaphorical high horse.

 

“Well, fine. But why don’t you put some dry clothes on, or get a blanket or something? And what the hell do you mean by “all” there’s only two of us here,” he grumbled between mouthfuls of porridge. He hugged the borrowed blankets closer around his shoulders by reflex and sending a meaningful look in Lauchlan’s direction.

 

“The horses count too…” Corbin rolled his eyes and scoffed in answer, which made Lauchlan bristle in annoyance, but he manage to quash the feeling before he spoke again “andall of my clothing is in the loft, I’d rather dry off down here and eat my dinner rather than fall to my death climbing those stairs in the dark.” He said, meekly. He would have to go up there eventually, he knew, but he had no intention of risking the rickety staircase while his legs felt as weak and shivery as they did, even if it meant staying cold for a bit longer.

 

“You’re not saying that you’re afraid of the dark are you?” Corbin pried. His eyes narrowed into predatory slits as he looked Lauchlan up and down with such scrutiny that he shied away from the man on impulse, remembering what had happened last time that Corbin had looked so intense. Corbin interpreted the reflex the wrong way.

 

“You have got to be joking! How old are you, thirty? A thirty year old man who’s afraid of the dark, I mean, you can’t be serious!” he exclaimed, shaking his head and shooting Lauchlan a look of ridicule that sent him into a prickling umbrage at the insult.

 

“I am not!” he spluttered, much to Corbin’s amusement, as he struggled in vain to compose himself as hurtful old memories threatened to pick apart his wall of calm and leave him vulnerable again.

 

The truth was that Corbin’s cruel assumption had cut much closer to the bone than Lauchlan would ever admit. His accident had derailed his entire life, ripping him away from his family, his home, his job, his entire _world_ and it left him with nothing. He had been stranded in the ruins of his once idyllic life with only scars and an empty expanse of black that became his constant companion, always skulking in the edges of his vision to remind him of what he had lost and of what he was still missing.

 

Thanks to his grim companion, he had fostered a deep and all consuming fear of losing what little vision he had left. When he was younger and the wound fresher, that fear had been manic. The black space to his right was constantly fraught with phantom terrors and dangers that were too terrifying to be rationalised away, after all, just because he couldn’t see them didn’t mean that the monster’s weren’t really there. He had jumped at every shadow and shied away from anything that could possibly endanger him, even his family and friends who had reached out to him.

 

But over time, Lauchlan had managed to work through his fears. He had been forced to, because what chance did a crippled boy have of surviving in the world when he was deathly afraid of anything and everyone? It had taken time, but soon the black space became just that, a black space.

 

It still served as a reminder of how total his loss might have been. If he had been just a little slower, if he hadn’t gotten away when he did he might have ended up completely blind. It was that total, gripping blackness he feared, and with good reason.

 

“I am not afraid of the dark,” said Lauchlan, being careful to say each word clearly as his stuttering problem always flared in times like these.

 

He struggled to remain calm, fighting against old painful memories which lapped at the edge of his conscious, trying to resurface and drag him back into the past. He could feel a cold sweat on the back of his neck and his fingers trembled with the effort, making the porridge in his bowl ripple and the spoon jitter around.

 

Corbin’s was trying not to laugh, he was biting his lip, his shoulders were trembling and his throat twitched.

 

“Well if you’re not afraid then why won’t you go up there and get some bloody pants?” he retorted, his bottled laughter played tricks with his voice; making it jump and shudder with the contained emotion.

 

“Because I don’t want to risk the stairs, I’ve said that already,” he said, causing Corbin to snicker again.

 

Corbin’s amusement was hurtful. Lauchlan shied away even further, trying to bury his fragile emotions in the safe haven of his mind and he stared into his cooling porridge as if it held all the answers. He shovelled a spoonful of it into his mouth and chewed it, rolling it over his tongue again and again as he tried to retain his composure. It tasted no better than cardboard. By the time he swallowed the morsel, his mind was no less vulnerable than it had been before, but he was determined not to look like a fool. He conjured the image of Corbin to mind again; the memory of him appearing as vulnerable as he was feeling bolstered his spirits against the hurt a little, and he felt brave enough to explain himself. He took a deep, steadying breath and decided to try to start from the beginning, “When you came in here you were delirious, you couldn’t walk because you’re legs were like jelly so I had to carry you here…”

 

“Alright, alright. No more laughing at Lauchlan then. There’s no need to resort to blackmail to keep people quiet you know,” Corbin snapped, interrupting Lauchlan’s line of thought and shooting him an apprehensive glare. It took Lauchlan a moment to understand exactly why Corbin was so affronted by the statement. When it finally dawned on him, he became flustered all over again and struggled to explain himself before Corbin labelled him as being manipulative as well as cowardly.

 

“No, that’s not what I meant at all! I’m just saying that when you came in here you were essentially crippled,” Corbin growled, and Lauchlan scrambled to recover the conversation. “And when I say that I don’t mean to insult you, I’m just trying to explain that…” Corbin was seething and shot him another one of his burning glares. Lauchlan’s voice betrayed him and stumbled helplessly, making him look like a fool with his mouth hanging open and a blush on his face. Corbin shifted away from him, seemingly determined to end the conversation now that Lauchlan had turned its subject matter around. His shoulders looked so tensely bunched up that it was visible beneath the blankets, which could only mean that Corbin was angry. It was not a good sign.

 

“Corbin, will you please listen to what I’m saying. All I’m trying to explain is that the cold made you weak” Corbin’s shoulders tensed even further. Lauchlan finally realised why.He was such an utter _cad_. His guilt began gnawing at his conscious and knotting in his stomach. He struggled on with the sentence regardless, his words tripping over each other in his rush to make amends, “And I was worried about you! You weren’t acting like… yourself and I didn’t know what to do about that. I know that you’re better now, obviously, and while I wasn’t out there in the elements for as long as you I’m still not feeling… well. I just think it would be better for me to dry off before I trust my legs to do any sort of climbing, you know? I just… I don’t want to make a fool of myself,” he said, his voice trailing off into a mutter. He stared into his shivering lap as he chastised himself and fiddled with his bowl nervously.

 

The whole point of the promise had been to atone with the man, now he had just gone and made things worse by insulting him.He wondered how he kept getting into these situationswithout noticing, but his thoughts stopped dead in their tracks when he noticed that Corbin was giving him another one of his appraising looks from the corner of his eye.

 

Lauchlan gulped nervously, his mouth suddenly dry as he pushed his porridge around his bowl and tried not to look as nervous as he felt. Corbin’s eyes raked over him, making his skin erupt into goose bumps. Lauchlan saw the stress leak out from Corbin’s shoulders and his lips quirked into a smile. He let himself relax,letting out a breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding as Corbin seemed to accept his unspoken apology and scooted closer, his shoulder brushing against Lauchlan’s own. Lauchlan felt his body slacken in relief as the tension between them dissipated.

 

“Nobody does, Lauchlan,” he said, his grin hollow. He reached out, laying a gloved hand on Lauchlan’s lap and gently squeezing his kneecap.

 

“Nobody does what?” he asked. The comforting gesture soothed his rattled nerves, quieting the painful memories that were beating at the edges of his consciousness and sending ripples of calm through him. The stiffened muscles of his shoulders dissolved into mush and the knot in his chest relaxed and unfurled, letting him breathe deeply again. Lauchlan found it strange that such a simple touch could do so much, and maybe a little pathetic on his part, but he wouldn’t push it away for anything.

 

“Want to make fools of themselves,” said Corbin with a small shrug of his shoulders. He squeezed Lauchlan’s knee again, more firmly this time. For a moment, Corbin seemed very far away.

 

“Unless you’re a in the circus, I guess,” quipped Lauchlan before he had really thought the sentence through, and regretted ruining the moment as soon as it had left his mouth.

 

Corbin snapped back to the present with a soft snort of laughter and a shake of his head, patting Lauchlan’s leg as he let out the chuckle.

 

“Yes, except for that,” he said, the fog behind his eyes evaporating away as quickly as it had gathered there. In moments, he seemed to bounce back into his old character again. He ran his other hand up to Lauchlan’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly. He met Lauchlan’s confused gaze with his own for a moment and his expression faltered. For a split second it was solemn, but then he smiled.

 

After a moment of hesitation, he forced his hand to release its death grip on the wooden bowl and tentatively laid it on Corbin’s own shoulder, lightly squeezing it in return.

 

He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking, and he silently blamed it on the cold.

 

Corbin’s lips quirked into a predatory smirk again, his eyes gleaming as the hand on his knee suddenly became adventurous. Gripping it tight and digging into the soft joint with the tips of his fingers which rubbed around in circles, chasing away the tension.

 

His hand slid under the coat, curling his hand around his leg and digging the pads of his fingers into the softer inner muscles, gripping tightly and pushing the coarse weave of his sodden winter trousers into his leg, dragging it across the sensitive skin as he worked his fingers around in circles.

 

“Corbin, what are you… ah!” he gasped in surprise as the hand continued drifting upwards along the inside of thigh, gripping the trembling muscles of his leg in a firm, steady hand and seeking out every last patch of skin with the pads of his fingers, as if he could feel Lauchlan’s skin shaking beneath the thick layers of wool and leather between them.

 

“Well, you certainly weren’t joking. You’re shaking like a leaf,” Corbin chuckled as his fingers created wonderful chaos on Lauchlan’s trembling nerves.

 

Corbin shifted, pressing their sides together and propping his head up on Lauchlan’s chest, allowing him to snake his right arm around Lauchlan and grip his hip in a one-armed embrace. His hand continued to rub and knead the flesh of his inner thigh, slowly creeping upwards with every rotation of his fingers. Lauchlan could feel himself sweating and his mouth going dry as the touches inched further and further upwards, and he became flushed despite the cold. His heart beat like a drum in his chest driving the burning heat through his veins as it plunged lower and lower, flocking to Corbin’s deft touches which seemed almost too good to be real.

 

He could feel himself becoming hypersensitive as arousal beat through his veins and he became aware of every fibre of his clothes pressing against his skin, every muscle as it was stirred by Corbin’s and the every button of his fly as his manhood started digging into it, straining for the room.

 

Corbin’s other hand released its grip on his hips and slid upwards, feeling along his arm and then plucking the nearly empty bowl out of his hands, which were sweating profusely.

 

“You know, we should definitely go up to the hayloft and get these off. You wouldn’t want to get frost bite down there after all,” purred Corbin as he smirked up at Lauchlan. The grip on his leg suddenly became light and fluttery as he smoothed down the fabric of his trousers and then retreated all together. He laid the hand across his own lap and curled his dampened, gloved fingers into the blankets. Lauchlan gulped down air as he met Corbin’s eyes, his expression was smug and filled to the brim with suggestion that made his stomach flutter.

 

“I’m sure that would be better than freezing down here, don’t you think?” he said, his voice a low suggestive growl. The rumbling of it shook through Lauchlan’s coat and made his chest quiver.

 

Lauchlan licked his lips and struggled for words, his dinner forgotten. He felt nervous, scared and flustered but the feeling of _want_ that was burning in his veins was doing its best to drown out every other emotion. But if there was one thing that Lauchlan had learned from his love life it was that thinking with your manhood first and your head second was not a good idea. He forced his arousal into a corner of his mind and tried to ignore it, if only for a little while, and gently pushed Corbin away from his chest. He tried to look the man in the eye but his nerves were fickle and that stare of Corbin’s proved to be just too daunting. He ended up staring at his hairline instead.

 

“Corbin, I know that… that I agreed to do this for you and I will, I just need to ask that, I, well…” Lauchlan’s voice faltered and he felt himself blush as he searched for the right words to explain the soul deep emotion that had him quaking with fear and twitching with alien anticipation all at once, but Corbin beat him to it.

 

“Let me guess, you’re feeling scared shitless right now?” he drawled, cocking an eyebrow at him. Lauchlan stiffened from the surprise of the intervention, but he forced himself to nod. He thought that he would be better off facing up to the fact that he was scared rather than trying to put on a brave face and loosing it half way through which ever favour Corbin was going to ask of him.

 

“So, I was hoping that… well you did promise that it wouldn’t hurt so I just wanted to make sure, before this goes anywhere, that…”

 

“You want me to be gentle with you, I get it, and I will,” said Corbin, interrupting Lauchlan’s fumbling attempts at speech leaving him feeling more than a bit surprised by the sincerity in his tone. He glanced downwards, meeting Corbin’s eyes at last, and he found nothing but honesty there. It was very reassuring, and that spark of heat he had been trying to ignore bubbled up to the surface again and begged him for attention.

 

The arousal beating through his veins confused him to no end. The feeling of desire was something he could understand; loneliness and cold had their way of making any touch feel like heaven. What he couldn’t fathom was the just how strongly his body was reacting to Corbin’s touch. The man was the sheer opposite of everything that Lauchlan considered attractive and yet his manhood didn’t seem to care at all, hell, he felt more aroused now then he had in a very long time and they hadn’t done anything.

 

It was a very disconcerting feeling which was quickly becoming uncomfortable.

 

“What?” asked Corbin, and Lauchlan realised with a jolt that he had been caught staring. He flinched his eye away so quickly that his neck complained with an audible crick.

 

“It’s nothing,” he muttered. The last thing he wanted was Corbin knowing about the confusion of his emotions, not after everything that had been said. Corbin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, before he asserted himself again.

 

“Lauchlan, look at me,” he said, his tone left little room for argument and Lauchlan reluctantly obeyed, feeling like he was six years old again and about to receive a scolding from his mother.

 

“I’m not a going to rape you, Lauchlan. I’m not a rapist,” he said. He didn’t sound angry, far from it, it was like someone had pulled the jabbed him and he had just deflated. Suddenly that thought made Lauchlan feel guilty all over again as he realised that Corbin hadn’t given him any cause to fear harm from him at all. He had been the only one to leap to that assumption and he had never done so much as give him the benefit of the doubt, despite the fact that he had been the one who had hurt him and not the other way around.

 

Now he felt like an even bigger cad.

 

“I know you aren’t! I’m sorry that I… I’m just nervous I guess,” Lauchlan said, his voice almost breaking into an embarrassing titter, but sorry for what? He felt sorry for a lot of things, for hurting him, for forgetting him, for insulting him by accident, for assuming the worst of him. He just couldn’t find the words, or the courage to say them aloud. He could never trust his voice to obey him when he was feeling emotional.

 

Corbin smiled, the tiny quirk of his lips suggesting so many things at once to Lauchlan that he couldn’t decide whether it was a sign of forgiveness or a warning.

 

Suddenly, Corbin’s hands were on him again, a gloved hand gripped his right shoulder and tugged him close to Corbin’s body as the other released its grip and let the blankets slither to the ground. Corbin rose into a kneeling position on the crate, allowing him to rise above Lauchlan as the embrace tightened, remaining platonic but promising so much more.

 

“Anything I can do about that?” purred Corbin, the low rumble of his voice turned Lauchlan’s insides to jelly and he peered up at him nervously. Those eyes were just full of dark promise and they made him tremble as the heat bubbled up from his loins and filled him with aching _want_ that both frightened him and egged him on. He knew he had to do this, he _wanted_ to do this and it had to be now, or he feared that he would lose his nerve for good.

 

“Well, I still feel rather cold,” he said, barely raising his voice above a whisper.

 

Corbin grinned that Cheshire grin again and Lauchlan only had a moment to wonder why before Corbin sprung, throwing one leg over his lap and straddling him. He wrapped an arm around his back and pulled their chests flush together, making Lauchlan gasp in surprise as the heat spread though his body like wildfire. His free hand snaked up between them and grasped Lauchlan’s chin tilting it up so that they were eye to eye. Corbin wand his eyes gleamed devilishly as he loomed over him, one palm rubbing circles into his back and the thumb of his other hand flicked up to brush against his bottom lip.

 

“I can help you with that,” he said, the smirk on his face growing wider with every passing second as he gripped Lauchlan’s chin and gently tugged it upwards to meet his own.

 

For a moment, Lauchlan was petrified, but when those lips descended onto his own, only one thought stayed in his mind; that he was about to let another man have his way with him, and he didn’t think he had wanted anything this badly since the day that Ida had come to his door.

 

But that was hardly important now.


	5. Tickled Pink

 

Corbin didn’t kiss Lauchlan, he _devoured_ him.

 

Corbin’s lips felt dry and chapped against his own, at least until the wetness of his tongue snaked out from his mouth to tease at Lauchlan’s upper lip and lash against the bottom one. One of Corbin’s hands traced the line of Lauchlan’s jaw, following it back and cupping the base of his skull, tugging them closer and closer together until Lauchlan could feel the rasp of stubble against his jaw and the jarring pressure of Corbin’s nose digging into his right cheekbone.

 

Heat surged through Lauchlan’s veins, urged faster and faster by the crashing of his heart, which threatened to rupture out of his chest if it beat any harder. Corbin’s hand ran up one of his sides, the fingers dragging through the soggy layers of his clothing, pushing the texture of the coarse woollen weave into his skin and rubbing it around as they travelled up and down his side.

 

He gasped, and Corbin surged forward like a tide, deepening the kiss into a mess of tongue and teeth.

 

Whatever definition separated them from one another came to an abrupt end and Lauchlan could only manage a muffled yip of surprise as Corbin’s tongue filled up his mouth and made itself at home, pushing in and moving back and forth, back and forth over his own, bringing the sweet taste of milk and sugar into his mouth, though it was masking something foreign that teased at the edge of his addled range of perception.

 

Corbin dragged another gasp from him he slowly extracted himself, tongue sliding free of him, leaving him bereft and panting for air. Corbin licked his lips with a wet smack as he lazily smirked down at him.

 

“You know, last time I thought it was just because you were disorientated and hungover, but it’s not, is it? You honestly have no idea how to kiss properly,” he said with the hint of a chuckle in his voice. He released the fistful of Lauchlan’s coat and absentmindedly tried to rid the dampness from his hand by wiping it against his lapel, which was even damper, before he rested it on Lauchlan’s shoulder.

 

“Eh?” asked Lauchlan, he was still short of breath and struggling to put his thoughts back into order. At some point, his hands had latched around Corbin’s waist, just below his ribcage. Corbin’s natural warmth seeped into his palms and the rhythmic ebb and swell of his breathing beneath Lauchlan’s thumbs was a bit of a distraction. It had been a long time since he had been kissed like that, in fact, Lauchlan didn’t think he had _ever_ been kissed quite like that. He and Ida had done so, obviously, but the tone of the whole affair had been completely different.

 

It was invigorating, and it was so much more than he had been prepared for.

 

“I said that you…” he emphasised ‘you’ by lightly prodding Lauchlan in the sternum, “are an absolutely rubbish kisser.” the same fingers that had jabbed him ghosted up and gently traced along the curve of his jaw. They came to rest on Lauchlan’s other shoulder, and Corbin linked his fingers behind Lauchlan’s neck.

 

“I… what? You’re saying what?” spluttered Lauchlan as his thoughts started to wrap around the meaning of what Corbin was saying, but the implication was having trouble sinking in. Having a living, breathing human being in his arms just felt so _nice,_ on the simplest level that emotion allowed. Lauchlan could barely remember the last time he had actually been touched, apart from a fleeting handshake or slap to the shoulder. The sensation of holding someone after so long was almost euphoric.

 

Or at least it was until he finally comprehended what Corbin had been implying and flinched in embarrassment, dropping his hands to his sides.

 

“You! I, I’m not!” he snapped as he finally dragged his mind back to the realm of coherence. Feeling his blood swim back upwards to colour his cheeks red.

 

“It took you long enough to deny it,” Corbin snickered. He made a show of wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, flicking it in a way that didn’t really seem necessary.

 

“Well, I’m not,” Lauchlan stuttered weakly, his cheeks growing warmer by the second.

 

“Of course. You just sat there, doing nothing. That is clearly the hallmark of a master,” Corbin drawled, wearing a raised eyebrow and a smirk that spoke volumes. Lauchlan opened his mouth to deny it, but snapped it shut when he realised that he was only stating a fact.

 

“I hope you realise that you do have to contribute to this” Corbin said, his brow creasing a little as he looked down at him.

 

Lauchlan realised with a jolt that Corbin was _waiting_ and gulped nervously, shivering in earnest as he struggled to pluck up his courage. He felt like he was fourteen all over again; all filled up with turbulent emotions that shook him to his core, but he had no idea how to release them.

 

He just had to kiss the man. It was nothing he hadn’t done before, but it was making his stomach churn and his hands shake.

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake man, I don’t _bite._ You’re acting like you’ve never even kissed anyone before,” he snapped. Lauchlan flinched and felt what little blood he had left to spare flood to his cheeks.

 

“I have! I’m not some kind of recluse. Well, not really. It’s just that, well… you’re not like anyone I’ve ever kissed, at all,” he stuttered, nervously clutching fistfuls of his own coat sleeves to keep his hands still.

 

Corbin sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair again, removing the other from Lauchlan’s shoulder.

 

“Look, I said that I’m not a rapist and I’m not, if this isn’t going to work…” Corbin began to pull away, frowning and oozing disappointment from his pores.

 

Lauchlan’s hands shot forwards and latched around Corbin’s waist again by their own accord, halting Corbin’s withdrawal in its tracks.

 

“Don’t,” he muttered. He had come this far. He didn’t want to back off and be left wondering what might have been, not after that kiss. He gripped tighter, digging his fingers into the woollen pullover until he could feel the solid strength of Corbin’s body beneath it. He drew what support he could from it, took a deep breath and weakly tugged, urging him closer again.

 

Corbin’s lips slowly quirked into a smug grin again and he allowed himself to be tugged in close, winding his arms around Lauchlan’s shoulders again as his rose up a little higher on his knees, remaining head and shoulders above him.

 

Lauchlan swallowed, his mouth going dry as he squeezed Corbin’s waist for support one final time. He moistened his lips and tried to steady his gaze on Corbin’s own for once. He looked ruffled, his dark hair was damp and sticking up all over and that damnable beard swept to the left. He was still smirking though, and patiently waiting for Lauchlan to make his move. He breathed through his mouth, every breath sent a little puff of fog spilling out which curled around the shape of his jaw, making him look positively wicked by the dull firelight.

 

Tentatively he swept one of his hands upward, resting his palm on the curve of Corbin’s rib cage and feeling it move up and down, up and down beneath the dark wool as Corbin’s breath quickened, before he shifted it back to curl around the muscle and bone of his shoulder blade. Corbin really was built like a brick, he wasn’t laden with muscles like a circus strongman or anything quite that extreme, but he was solid. It was as if his body had compensated for its shortness by making every piece of flesh it did have count. It felt strangely foreign, almost exotic, even if such a thing was quite ordinary when he thought about it.

 

Lauchlan drew a deep breath, using that soothing warmth to ground himself and reclaim his courage. He took another breath, moistened his lips again, and tugged.

 

Lauchlan’s felt his nose ram into Corbin’s chin before he could realise his mistake, the solid bone and scratch of stubble jarred his already scrambling thoughts and sent him reeling backward, his head spinning. Corbin snorted in laughter. Lauchlan felt his a blush burn across his cheeks and up to his ears as he covered his sore nose and his mouth with his hand, feeling absolutely mortified as Corbin’s snorting chuckles only became more and more hysterical.

 

“What the hell happened there?” snickered Corbin. He bit into his bottom lip hard enough to turn it white, but that didn’t seem to stop him from uncontrollably chuckling.

 

Lauchlan felt his face burn hotter as he recoiled away from the embrace, curling his fingers into the cuffs of his coat sleeves and gripping them until his knuckles turned white, gnashing on the insides of his cheeks just to take the edge off the seething embarrassment that was turning his face crimson. He flinched his eye away from Corbin’s cackling face to stare at the floor, which was barren of condemnation. He crossed his arms over his chest as he fought against his instincts, which were telling him to curl up into a ball and hide until the humiliation went away.

 

“I… can’t see properly anymore,” he muttered beneath his breath. When he lost his right eye his depth perception had been skewered beyond repair, there wasn’t a day when he wasn’t constantly bumping into things or tripping over. It had taken him months of adjustment just to achieve something as simple as walking from one end of his house to the other without tripping over something or bashing his hips and shoulders into the doorframes and the corners of the furniture. Even now he still tended to misjudge the distance of things, kisses included apparently.

 

Within a moment the laughter died down and Lauchlan glanced up again in surprise. Corbin was frowning and had the oddest look in his eyes, regretful almost, but that couldn’t be right.

 

“Right. Right, of course you can’t,” muttered Corbin as his amusement bled out of him. He sighed, the leering grin on his face changing into something softer as he relaxed his legs a little, bringing his head down closer to Lauchlan’s until they were eye to eye.

 

Corbin urged him closer again, gently urging his head forward and rubbing soothing circles into his scalp. Lauchlan had half a mind to let himself be pulled, but he baulked in indecision. The heat of embarrassment was still hot on his cheeks and his mind. For a moment he just didn’t know anymore.

 

“Come on, big guy,” murmured Corbin, his voice a low, sensual rumble. He wet his lips, that pointed tongue gliding out and flicking, leaving his kiss reddened lips open, waiting, expecting.

 

Butterflies swarmed in Lauchlan’s stomach, churning his dinner around as he stared at those expectant lips. Memories whirled in his brain, teasing him with tastes of passion but denying him the meal of it, which was waiting mere inches away from his own, dry lips. All he had to do was lean forwards and it would be his again.

 

Lauchlan certainly didn’t need to be told a second time.

 

He forced the muscles of his neck to relax and let himself be tugged.

 

His eye fluttered shut before any contact was made, partially out of his own sense of romanticism but mostly out of his nervousness. If he embarrassed himself again he didn’t want to see it happening.

 

It started out much more gently this time. There were no noses seeking to dig into his cheeks, or tongues scrabbling for admittance, just the wet press of lips and a tickle of hair as Corbin guided him in close with his gloved hand against his jaw and the other cupping the base of his neck. But it came as no surprise that the kiss grew carnal within moments, Corbin’s tongue emerged and started doing devilish things to his lips which Lauchlan parted without complaint.

 

The sweet taste of sugar invaded his mouth a second ahead of the probing muscle. The taste was addictive and teasingly familiar, maybe he would remember if he had a better taste. Corbin pushed in his tongue as far as he could stretch the fleshy appendage, drawing it in and out again and sparking the most wonderful tingling sensations up and down his spine. Lauchlan became lost in the rhythm of it, sucking his desperate breaths in time; breathing in the scent of wood smoke and herbs with each stuttered breath.

 

Feeling bold, he began to push back against the onslaught, returning every push with a shove of his own and he became entangled in moments. The feeling was exquisite, warm and moist and it teased and pushed at him at every opportunity. That strange, familiar taste invaded his senses and Lauchlan revelled in it, abandoning the need to identify it in lieu of simply experiencing it as it smothered out thought and filled him with sweet sensation. Unbidden, Lauchlan allowed instinct and _want_ to take over as the kiss became crushing again, with noses in cheeks and Corbin’s hands clutching Lauchlan’s short, hazel hair in a death grip.

 

Lauchlan tried to give as good as he got to the point where he swore he could feel Corbin’s molars with the tip of his tongue as he sank it inside. His hands wound their way around Corbin’s back, gripping him tightly by his pullover and hugging him close. The feeling of Corbin’s body pressed against his own, his hands around him and the heaving of his chest as they squirmed together was dizzying. Lauchlan’s heartbeat escalated into a crashing symphony, sending heat and pleasure flooding through every part of his body as he clutched Corbin tighter, never wanting to let go. 

 

Corbin groaned into the kiss, the vibrations of it rumbling out from his throat and into Lauchlan’s own, making his breath stutter. Lauchlan gasped and let out a little sound of his own, drawing the both of them into a tangle of mewling moans and breathy gasps as they struggled to kiss and vocalise their pleasure at once.

 

Corbin chuckled, a deep throaty sound that made Lauchlan melt a little inside. Slowly, painstakingly, he untangled himself from the kiss, dragging an embarrassing mewl out of Lauchlan as he was left empty.

 

Lauchlan’s eye fluttered open again and was met with Corbin’s grinning face, hovering inches away from his own. His cheeks were flushed and his brown eyes were heavy lidded as he unashamedly undressed him with his gaze.

 

His eye was drawn back to Corbin’s lips, they were flushed red and at some point his bottom lip had split, a tiny droplet of crimson blood was beading there. Lauchlan had the strangest urge to suck it away.

 

“Well, that was an improvement,” Corbin panted.

 

Lauchlan felt himself blush again. He opened his mouth to say something in return but just as the words were about to form, Corbin’s reddened tongue snuck out again and licked the drop away, sucking the little injury into his mouth. The only sound that escaped Lauchlan’s lips was a breathy “Mmph” as his train of thought promptly derailed itself.

 

Scrambled thoughts raced around in his brain faster than he could collect or even comprehend them. The pleasurable haze that had settled over his mind smothered out most of them anyway, replacing his worries with an eerie sense of calm and buzzing pleasure which wrapped him up and held him just as securely as he was holding Corbin against his chest. Contentment flowed through him as thick and fast as his blood and it churned up the tingling sensation of want wherever their bodies touched, which was almost everywhere.

 

Corbin leaned in again, pressing a lazy, sloppy kiss to Lauchlan’s mouth which was almost all tongue and no lip, and Lauchlan barely had the time to return it before Corbin pulled back again, untangling his tongue and then pressing another to his right cheek which made Lauchlan jolt, digging his fingers into Corbin’s back in surprise.

 

“Don’t,” Lauchlan muttered.

 

Corbin flinched back, affronted.

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t mean stop, I just... could you?” Lauchlan’s voice abandoned him, and he tilted his head to the right a little, baring his left, unmarred cheek in the hopes that Corbin would get the message.

 

Corbin seemed to understand, if his smirk was any indication, and he dove upon the offered cheek. He pressed sloppy, messy kisses up his jaw and down his neck. Corbin gripped his hair tight and roughly tilted Lauchlan’s head to the side, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. All of his senses were flooded with Corbin’s intoxicating smell; wood smoke, herbs and that strange, foreign something. Lauchlan shut his eye to enjoy it more, almost tasting it as he buried himself deeper into the soft woollen layer covering Corbin’s shoulder, groaning into it as Corbin kissed and sucked on the base of his neck.

 

Corbin’s hands started to roam. Moving in small soothing circles across his shoulders that grew steadily wider, sliding down his back where they dug into the fabric and rubbed warmth into the tired muscles. Lauchlan sighed happily and tried to reciprocate the action, hugging Corbin tight and running his hands up and down the ridge of his spine.

 

Corbin’s breath hitched and he dragged his tongue along the line of his jugular vein, following it up to lavish kisses onto the sensitive spot just behind his ear, kissing and sucking at it, making Lauchlan’s stomach flutter and his breath hitch with every swipe of that tongue across his skin.

 

In tandem, both his hands and his lips travelled lower. His kisses following the line of his collar down and then nosing under it to peck at the dip between neck and collarbone which sent Lauchlan’s head spinning. He moaned and tipped back his head as the light kisses evolved into sucking bites. Corbin’s hands circled around his hips and began softly stroking Lauchlan’s sides with his thumbs.

 

Corbin chuckled again, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a jolt down Lauchlan’s spine, which tingled through the rest of him. He hooked his fingers into Lauchlan’s belt loops and tugged on them, rearranging Lauchlan’s crotch as he tried to get at the fly. His erection was jerked from where it had been quite comfortably positioned in the hollow between his hip and his leg and jabbed into the confining fabric. Lauchlan hissed through his teeth and squeezed fistfuls of Corbin’s pullover as he fought the burning compulsion to palm himself and relieve the pressure.

 

Corbin’s lips travelled up, mouthing his Adam’s apple in a way that really couldn’t be called a kiss so much as a full on _bite,_ pinching the loose skin and dragging the flat sides of his incisors across, sucking as much skin into his mouth as he could. He muttered something unintelligible against his throat as those hands petted the hollows of his hips sympathetically before he jerked the waistband again, tightening the already uncomfortable pressure.

 

“Corbin,” he whimpered.

 

Corbin released his neck and glanced back up at him with a toothy grin on his lips and a mischievous glint in his hooded eyes that made Lauchlan shudder in anticipation.

 

“Sorry,” he huffed. He sounded satisfyingly short of breath, but not the slightest bit sorry.

 

Corbin killed Lauchlan’s rebuttal by tracing the tent in his pants with his knuckles, pressing the smooth surface of the back of his hand and wrists against the length of it in a cruel tease that dragged a strangled gasp out of Lauchlan’s throat. He grasped fists full of Corbin’s pullover, clutching onto him for dear life. The light, teasing caress slowly became firmer as Corbin explored the shape of it, firmly stroking with his knuckles and lightly teasing with the backs of his fingers.

 

Lauchlan’s breaths deepened from breathy gasps to desperate pants as he struggled to breathe properly. Arousal flooded through him and took over his senses. It was aching in him, every little touch sending a thrill up his spine and leaving him wanting more.

 

Corbin twisted his hand, hooking his thumb around the tip and gently pressing it, angling it so that it shifted upwards, snug against the waist of his pants and safely below his belt buckle. He stroked from the tip downwards with the pad of his thumb, and then curled around the base of it.

 

Lauchlan moaned openly now, desperate sounds that seemed to start deep in the pit of his stomach, building up and expanding in his chest until they bubbled out of him, stealing away his breath.

 

“You’re easily pleased, aren’t you?” Corbin muttered to himself as his fingers curled around the round bulge of Lauchlan’s testicles, cupping them through the fabric and rubbing his erection with the heel of his hand and wrist.

 

Lauchlan gasped aloud, his voice fluttering into a needy gasp of “Oh, C… Corbin!” as his hips jerked into Corbin’s hand. He was sitting cross-legged and his calves had fallen asleep long ago, making movement nearly impossible and nowhere near satisfying.

 

Lauchlan didn’t need to look to know that Corbin was smirking, and he was proven right when Corbin pressed his lips to the side of Lauchlan’s jaw again, the quirk of his lips pressing into his skin as he kissed his way to Lauchlan’s ear.

 

“Corbin, please,” he gasped. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was asking for but at this point he didn’t care, he just wanted, _needed_ , more.

 

“Please do what, exactly?” Corbin murmured, his tone husky. His breath ghosted over the shell of Lauchlan’s ear, setting his skin aflame with heat. He could tell by the pitching of his voice and flourish of his free hand as it crept up to play with his lapel that Corbin was taking a certain glee out of teasing him like this.

 

Lauchlan gritted his teeth and struggled to bite back his moans as Corbin’s fingers undulated, sending shivers up his spine and his blood thrumming downwards. He sucked a breath in through his mouth, franticly trying to draw moisture back into it so that he could ask, hell, _beg_ Corbin to stop torturing him like this and take things all the way. Lauchlan’s train of thought stopped dead when the image of himself being bent over the crate and taken on the flagstone floor penetrated into his brain and stuck there.

 

The image only intensified when Corbin did something wonderful with his fingers, curling them and hooking his thumb around his erection so that his cock was pushing into Corbin’s palm and his fingers were rubbing and cupping the rest of him. Lauchlan groaned, long and low from his throat and jerked, pushing himself into that palm as hard as he could, which wasn’t nearly hard enough. He gripped Corbin’s shoulders for support and wriggled a leg free, bracing himself against the floor and thrusting into that hand again, slowly and deeply, the pleasure of it wrenching cries out from him with every rock of his hips. Corbin rocked with him, pushing his hand against Lauchlan’s twitching hips and attacking his neck with teeth and tongue.

 

“Please what, Lauchlan?” he growled into Lauchlan’s throat, yanking him back into the realm of conscious thought.

 

“I…” he faltered, having forgotten what it was he wanted in the heat of the moment. His brain scrambled to make up for lost ground, but the delightful contact was making it much more difficult than it should’ve been. He wanted to take it all the way, that he knew, but there was something else he was forgetting, something to do with the floor?

 

Corbin jerked his collar open and thumbed it down, fervently kissing every inch of skin that was revealed until he settled at the patch of skin between his collarbones which he sucked at, his beard pricking at it. The rush of cool air it allowed jolted his memory; he had definitely wanted a bed, or at least something warmer and softer than flagstones.

 

“Not here,” he gasped, using up all of his willpower just to stop his hips from rocking into Corbin’s hand.

 

Corbin released the skin he’d been doting on with a wet smacking noise and met Lauchlan’s eye. Corbin’s pupils were dilated and his breath came in quick, shallow puffs that bellied his anticipation.

 

“The hay loft?” Corbin asked, his voice a suggestive purr. He licked his lips and rubbed a hand up and down Lauchlan’s chest in a distracting tease.

 

“Yes,” Lauchlan gasped without a second thought.

 

Corbin needed no further prompting. He snatched his hand away, much to Lauchlan’s dismay. He scrambled off Lauchlan’s lap and onto his feet the moment the word was spoken.

 

“Take this off first,” he said, tapping Lauchlan’s chest. With his free hand, he gently palmed the bulge in his trousers, trying to move his own erection into a more comfortable position with absolutely no regard for discretion.

 

“Why?” Lauchlan asked, his voice breathy and quivering with anticipation.

 

“Because it’s soaked, and it will only get in the way if you bring it up there.” Corbin chuckled, his voice jumping as he managed to shove himself into a more comfortable position. Corbin traced the outline of his realigned cock with his fingers, tracing around the swell of the tent in his dark brown trousers and slowly rubbing his palm against the tip. He shuddered happily, his eyes drooping shut and a catlike grin blooming on his face as treated himself to a moment of decadence. His fingers traced the line of the fly back up to his belt, leaving the bulge in plain view.

 

Lauchlan couldn’t drag his eye away.

 

He had known that getting an erection would be involved of course, but he hadn’t visualised it, not like this. Having it in front of him was startling, and in none of the ways that he’d anticipated. His eye was glued to every movement of those leather gloved fingers as Corbin palmed himself, every movement had his own arousal twitching and throbbing in torturous empathy and his fingertips itching to touch and feel, though he couldn’t seem to decide whose body he’d rather latch onto. And when that hand went away he had to bite his lip to stop himself from making an incredibly embarrassing noise which trembled in the back of his throat as his heart stammered and his ribs seemed to clench. Having it displayed in front of him like this hammered home the fact that one way or another he was going to have this man’s cock inside of his body, and he would be damned as a liar if he didn’t admit that the idea was a thousand times more appealing now than it was before.

 

Lauchlan felt himself twitch within the unforgiving confines of his trousers and a warm drop of moisture rolled sluggishly downwards, teasing his aching nerves and clenching his chest tighter.

 

“I would appreciate it if you could take that off _tonight_ , Lauchlan,” Corbin drawled with his arms crossed over his chest and a corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a lopsided smirk.

 

Lauchlan snatched his gaze away and fumbled for the buttons of his greatcoat with a blush blazing from his neck to his ears. _How long was I staring_? he wondered. It had only felt like a second, but for all he knew it could have been minutes. He bit down on the soft flesh of his lip, but the pain barely took the edge of the embarrassment from his mind.

 

“Don’t kick yourself,” purred Corbin as his socked feet appeared in Lauchlan’s vision and his hands latched onto the next button down.

 

He leaned in close, pressing his cheek to Lauchlan’s and sending puffs of breath curling around his ear.

 

“From you, I find it _flattering_ ,” he growled, a bestial rumble that made Lauchlan’s every nerve quiver with sensation that spiralled through him and settled into a tight knot in the pit of his gut, holding tight and winding tighter still with every second that ticked past.

 

“Well, I found it humiliating,” Lauchlan muttered as he finally managed to slip the button free of its eye. He reached for the next, only to find that Corbin had already taken care of it, and the three after.

 

“I can work that out of you.” The snarled promise was the only warning he got before Corbin flung his coat open.

 

Corbin’s hands dove underneath, dragging their bodies close and encircling him in a fervent embrace. Corbin peeled away the greatcoat like a second skin, dragging the shoulders of it down to his elbows which he grasped, digging gloved fingers into the warm, soft wool he was wearing underneath.

 

“Come on!” Corbin growled and tugged him forwards, his eyes glinting with lustful enthusiasm in the firelight. 

 

Lauchlan struggled with the great coat, its sleeves were pinning his arms behind his back and Corbin’s impatient tugging was making it difficult to pull them back far enough to get out of them. He rocked forwards off the crate, putting his weight onto his leg and struggling to free the other from under himself as Corbin’s lips began doing something wonderful to the hollow of his throat, making any form of concentration a lost cause. He leaned into those lips as far as he dared, all the while struggling against the tangled greatcoat. That change in angle was all it took for his sleeping leg lurch to free, sending him stumbling onto his feet and into Corbin’s chest.

 

Corbin caught his weight with a muffled, “Oof!” as he staggered a step backward, releasing Lauchlan’s neck in the process. Lauchlan leaned back, putting his weight onto his good leg as the other was shot through with pins and needles.

 

The cold began sinking into his exposed back and neck, which mourned the loss of his sodden greatcoat. He wriggled his arms and shoulders together and felt the coat finally fall to the floor, weighed down by the damp and the contents of its pockets. His arms started to shiver and every hair on his body stood on end, making his skin prickle all over. It had only been a moment and the chill was already sinking a little deeper into his bones.

 

Corbin’s hands circled around his waist and rested there, not quite gripping but making the weight of them clearly known.

 

“Cold?” he asked, leaning into his chest as Lauchlan’s leg slowly resurrected itself. Lauchlan felt like bear hugging the man and jumping into the fire just to get some heat back into him.

 

“Freezing,” he stuttered, in what was probably the largest understatement he had made all year.

 

Corbin made a tutting noise and shook his head.

 

“We can’t have that,” he murmured.

 

Corbin’s hands roamed, moving from their place on the sides of his hips and then sliding back, flattening his palms over the small of his back and sliding them downwards. Corbin filled up his hands and pulled their bodies flush, his neglected arousal pressing into the warmth of Corbin’s firm stomach as Corbin gripped his arse tight and wriggled his fingers suggestively.

 

“You’d best lead the way then,” said Corbin, growling from deep in his chest.

 

Lauchlan could feel the tremble of his voice, even through five layers of sodden wool. The teasing flutter of Corbin’s chest had him twitching within the confines of his pants again and Lauchlan swallowed down a whimper. His knees shook as he struggled against the instinct that begged him to shove himself into the warm, inviting body in front of him and keep moving, _just keep fucking moving_ , until he found release.

 

Almost as if he could read Lauchlan’s mind, Corbin released Lauchlan’s buttocks from his hands and gently pushed Lauchlan’s hips away a fraction with his thumbs before removing his hands from his waist entirely.

 

Lauchlan felt the rush of cold air to his front as keenly as a bucket of ice water thrown into his face.

 

“Well?” barked Corbin, his dark eyes fixing Lauchlan with what could only be described as “A Look” which could have had a thousand different meanings, but for some reason Lauchlan had the feeling that if he didn’t get the two of them up to the hayloft in the next two minutes then he’d regret it.

 

He shook the feeling off as soon as he realised what it was. Corbin wasn’t going to hurt him and he didn’t need to start worrying over nothing again.

 

Reluctantly, he pulled himself away the fire and Corbin’s cloud of warmth toward the opposite corner of the barn where the old rickety staircase clung to the wall of the building like a shrivelled up creeper. He gestured to it, inviting Corbin forwards and inclining his head out of habit.

 

“This way,” he said, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. It sounded husky and was on the verge of croaking out and dying altogether.

 

He met Corbin’s eyes completely by accident as he looked down and became unwittingly embroiled in a battle of wills. Lauchlan had fallen upon old habits again and had waited for Corbin to walk first so he would be able to fall into step behind him, the same way he used to when he was working for the gentry. If Corbin’s scowl was any indication he didn’t like being treated like that one bit.

 

Lauchlan stuttered and faltered again, feeling intensely awkward in the light of Corbin’s reaction and the sudden tension between them.

 

“Oh for heaven’s sake, come on!” snapped Corbin, planting a hand between his shoulder blades and shoving him one stumbling step forwards.

 

Lauchlan spluttered in alarm as he stumbled over his own feet, tripping forwards and almost landing face first onto the cold flagstones, but Corbin’s hand was still planted between his shoulders and he tugged him back by his jumper, steadying him. Lauchlan huffed, his head still spinning as he was half pushed, half steered by Corbin’s steady hand.

 

An awkward silence settled between the two of them as they paced side by side. Corbin’s eyes were fixed straight ahead, glaring at the staircase in front of them as if it was going to fall apart just to spite him, which wasn’t unlikely, whereas Lauchlan was struggling to understand why such a simple habit upset him so much.

 

“Corbin look, I didn’t mean to…” Lauchlan’s voice froze when those piercing dark eyes looked up into his own. They were swimming with emotion and pent up frustration, which seemed, ever so slightly, to be ebbing.

 

“Just forget about it, it’s fine,” he said with a shake of his head. He released the fistful of Lauchlan’s jumper and patted his shoulder softly. He swung his hand down and looped it around his waist, tugging him close so that Lauchlan’s hip was pressed into Corbin’s side.

 

“Besides, we have much more important things to worry about. Don’t we now?” Corbin growled, that suggestive glint returning to his eye as he fanned out his fingers and curled them around the round curve of one of Lauchlan’s buttocks, squeezing it lightly and tracing the inner seam of his trousers with his forefinger.

 

Lauchlan yipped in shock and all but leaped out of Corbin’s reach. He whirled around to face him and unconsciously planted both hands over his buttocks, protectively. It wasn’t the touch that had shocked him, rather it was the surge of heat that ricocheted up and down his spine at the slightest quirk of Corbin’s fingers.

 

Corbin’s only reaction was a satisfied smirk and a hungry glint in his eye.

 

“Could you please _not_ do that?” Lauchlan asked, a blush blazing on his cheeks as he was forced to pace backwards as Corbin continued trotting towards the staircase, his right hand flexing, forebodingly.

 

“I could, but why on earth shouldn’t I?” he rumbled, a hungry glint in his eye. “I seem to recall going a bit further than that a minute ago.” He looped his arm back around Lauchlan’s waist, calloused fingers fanning out and drifting further than they he would have liked.

 

The touch was light but he was very much aware of it. His skin seemed awfully keen to fill in the gaps, tingling with the echoes of the more intimate touch of before. It had him twitching again.

 

Lauchlan gulped nervously, he couldn’t fall apart here, he just couldn’t. He swatted at Corbin’s hand and grasped him by the wrist, pushing away from himself. Conveniently, the staircase was only a few feet away from them by now and he started up it before Corbin could say anything, holding the banister on his sighted side.

 

They climbed in tense silence. Lauchlan expected Corbin to say something but he kept quiet, the creaking of the stairs and his heavy breathing the only sign that he was even there.

 

They reached the loft seconds after one another, Lauchlan too nervous to look back, quickly hopped up the makeshift stairs he’d made, onto the platform made by the winter stock of hay, Corbin right behind him. He slowed upon reaching his makeshift bed, taking a last nervous breath before turning to look behind him, shivering and bursting with anticipation.

 

He opened his mouth to say something, unsure of what exactly to say, but Corbin grasped him by the shoulders, yanking him down and wrapping a hand around the back of his head. Lauchlan knew what was coming by now and he relaxed himself into the kiss, holding Corbin’s shoulders to steady himself as he was eagerly ravaged again.

 

Corbin took his head in his hands, cupping his cheeks tenderly. The tenderness of it made a heel face turn, however, when Corbin’s hands slithered down to his chest and shoved him backwards. Lauchlan fell backwards uncontrollably, his heels hitting against empty air. He was overtaken by a consuming sense of panic as he lost his grip on Corbin’s shoulders and the world seemed to pitch around him. He flopped onto his soft bedding on his back, some two and a half feet below, his ankles hooked awkwardly over the bale above him.

 

Corbin perched on edge of the bale, his hands braced against his knees and chuckled mirthfully down at him, grinning from ear to ear.

 

“Well that was a bit cruel, don’t you think?” said Lauchlan, but he put little feeling behind it. It was nice to see the tension gone.

 

Corbin stooped lower, bracing his hands against the edge and swinging his legs toward him, planting a foot on either side of his hips and swooping down. Lauchlan found himself being straddled, with Corbin’s knees hugging close around his hips and his weight resting on his thighs.  

 

“Not at all,” Corbin murmured, reaching out a hand to catch Lauchlan’s jaw. He held him at arm length, his chin cupped gently in his hand as he appraised him for a moment. He must have liked whatever he saw, because he dove in for another kiss.

 

Lauchlan was eagerly ravaged again, and he tried his best to give as good as he got by substituting experience for sheer exuberance. Corbin certainly seemed to appreciate it. The sensation of Corbin’s body leaning on him, touching him all over was more than worth every second of discomfort he had gone through to get here, and if he weren’t, the feeling of his manhood throbbing against the warmth of Corbin’s thigh would be more than enough to convince him. He wrapped his arms around him and clutched him close, his hands all but clawing at his back as he felt Corbin’s own arousal digging into the sensitive skin of his belly. Corbin couldn’t seem to control his hips either, and as they kissed his they twitched and rolled, stimulating himself against Lauchlan’s taut chest. The sensation shouldn’t have been arousing, but it was, by god it was, and Lauchlan’s own arousal strained and leaked between them.

 

Corbin broke lip lock and rose to his knees, grasping Lauchlan’s arms and shrugging free of their embrace.

 

“Get up.”

 

Lauchlan had to do a double take, the feeling of their bodies twining together had felt so damned good and he wanted him to get up now? But then Corbin flicked open the buckle of his belt and Lauchlan couldn’t dart upright fast enough.

 _This is actually happening_ Lauchlan shuddered as the thought pierced through him, his hands shaking as he reached for his own buckle.

 

“Don’t do that,” Corbin said, swatting his hands away from his belt. Corbin’s held Lauchlan’s hips firmly and gently urged him to turn around.

 

Lauchlan followed the prompting obediently. Turning till he was facing away from him. Corbin leaned forwards, his body plastered against his back, he moved Lauchlan’s arms until he gripped the hay before him, and nudged his legs apart with his knee.

 

“Now, stay just like that,” Corbin growled, arousal hitching his voice.

 

Lauchlan shuddered, and the thought continued to echo through his brain. The familiarity of the position was unnerving, and uncomfortably impersonal. But it was too late now, he was a grown man for heaven’s sake, he could take a little pain.

 

Lauchlan’s breath hitched as Corbin’s hands circled around his waist, and released his buckle by feel. He threaded it loose and the other was put to use on his fly. He moaned as Corbin’s warm palm cupped him, his fingers pinching ever so slightly as he fumbled with the buttons. Corbin’s face nuzzled against his back, and he could faintly feel a kiss being planted there.

 

Corbin was panting with excitement as he finally managed to open the fly of Lauchlan’s trousers. Lauchlan couldn’t contain his relieved moan as his manhood burst free, slipping from his undergarments and swelling to its full length in spite of the wicked chill.

 

He heard Corbin chuckle and gripped his length blindly, leather gloved fingers clumsily stroking him up and down, but it was more than enough to make him shudder and groan beneath his touch.

 

_This is actually happening._

His other hand discarded his belt and hooked into his waistband, tugging everything down at once till it bunched around his knees. Corbin groaned behind him and pulled his hand back, out of his perception. Lauchlan twisted in an attempt to see just what he was going to do with it and the sight made him whimper.

 

Corbin had bitten into the fingertip of his glove, tugging it off, and dipped his fingers into a tin of something that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. His eyes glanced up to meet his, and he smiled wickedly, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded.

 

“Ah ah! No peeking now,” Corbin said, grinning conspiratorially. His fingers squeezed around his length in incentive.

 

Lauchlan whipped his neck around, if only to hide his embarrassing expression as Corbin’s hand caressed him, with slow, torturously gentle strokes. He panted in pleasure, the touch sapping the strength from his legs and leaving him with an all-consuming desire to just lie back and let Corbin finish him, promise be damned. He felt newly grateful for the position they were in. Corbin would surely laugh if he could see just how far the feather light touches could push him.

 

Lauchlan didn’t think he could handle that embarrassment.

 

Corbin let go of him, his hand pulling back, and the chill set upon him like buzzards to a carcass. He flinched, biting into his lip to distract himself from the exposure.

 

Corbin groaned as he gently skimmed his hand over the shape of his arse and gently pinched one of his cheeks, trailing downwards to prop them apart.

 

“You have no idea what you’re in for, do you?” he murmured, his voice hitching.

 

“No,” said Lauchlan, the sound a small, squeaking thing.

 

“Good.”

 

Corbin’s hand came up between his thighs, his fingers stroking the sensitive seam between his legs and his naked thumb pressing gently against the tight ring of muscles just behind.

 

Lauchlan gasped, the sudden warmth of skin against skin that flooded him made his insides clench in anticipation as the thumb gently stroked him, tracing the trembling orifice around and around. Corbin’s hand felt slick with some kind of cream, and his skin felt heated and tingling wherever he smeared the stuff.

 

Corbin seemed content enough to play with the muscle, firmly pushing into it and dragging his thumb around in small circles, forcing the hot sensation to seep deeper and deeper into the trembling flesh. He brought two of his fingers up to it, and gently pressed against him, rubbing and prodding at it.

 

Lauchlan was panting, sweating and aching with arousal. It was obscene how sensitive the opening was, it made no sense for it to feel so damned good when it was clearly never intended for it to be used this way, and yet it did. Corbin knew when to spread his fingers so that the muscles were forced to stretch apart, when to prod gently inside, knew when more of the hot, prickling cream was needed. Christ, what _was_ that stuff anyway? Wherever it touched him it made his skin feel warm and tingly, like pins and needles but intensely pleasant. It made his insides flutter and his cock drool uselessly into the hay.

 

Corbin was using four fingers now, two from each hand, his palms propping his cheeks apart and tugging at the tender skin so his orifice was straining, and winking open.

 

Lauchlan waited for one to squirm its way inside, that had been the point after all, but instead something warm and wet and intimately familiar striped across the exposed orifice. The divine heat and softness of it made him jolt, his back curling upward as the wet muscle stroked his trembling entrance.

 

“Was that... was that your _tongue_?” Lauchlan panted, his body trembling from the pleasure of it.

 

Corbin hummed in vague affirmation, his hot breath puffing over his tender flesh, his stubble prickling at his cheeks.

 

Lauchlan’s stomach rolled queasily. He couldn’t bear to imagine the taste of it, God almighty he hadn’t had so much as a sponge bath in three days! Lauchlan tried to speak out, to tell him to stop, that it was unclean but then Corbin spread him open again, his tongue darting out, lavishing on the muscle and ever so gently pushing inside, his lips gently kissing against his skin. The powers of speech left him, tumbling into a surprised gasp of pleasure.

 

Corbin continued to tease him as fastidiously as he had with his fingers. He’d lavish attention on his insides like he was kissing a lover, tracing and thrusting till Lauchlan was spasming around him and then he’d slowly, torturously pull free. His panting breaths ghosting over his over stimulated flesh in a tantalising reminder as he dipped his fingers into the tin and smeared the cream over him again. Then he’d dive in, only to lap it up and do it again.

 

It was driving Lauchlan mad, so much so that he barely noticed one of Corbin’s fingers, slicked and warm eased its way into him. It couldn’t have been more than an inch or two going in, but when he circled it around it felt like so much more than that. He pulled it out, replacing it with his tongue and diving after the warm, prickling gel that had been left inside of him. The feeling was unlike anything he’d felt before, the muscle so much firmer and more powerful than he would have thought. Strong enough to squeeze inside and lap at his innards despite his muscles wildly clenching and fluttering at the treatment he lavished on them.

 

His finger returned, this time all the way up to the knuckle, it rolled and tugged and _crooked_ inside, testing him as Corbin lashed his tongue against what little wasn’t covered by his hand, his stubble scraping against his parted cheeks. Lauchlan did notice that time, very much so, but the feeling wasn’t as uncomfortable as he thought it would be. It felt foreign within him, and his body squeezed and shuddered around it like it wanted to get rid of it. The sensation of the warm tongue lapping at him, the hot, prickling flush of the cream and the odd sensation of fullness were enough to make his cock throb and twitch in needy empathy _._ Over and over, Corbin would replace his finger with tongue, only to pull back and finger him again, slowly flaying him open.When one finger was exchanged for two, then for three, and then for two on each hand, scissoring him apart and allowing that tongue to lash ever deeper. All Lauchlan could do was strain his legs further apart and groan, lightheaded and addled with pleasure.

 

Corbin worked his insides, scissoring and pulling him open from four different ways all while that tongue of his lashed and wriggled inside. He could feel Corbin’s nose jabbing into his tailbone, his overgrown sideburns scratching at his skin, his remaining fingers clenching the cheeks of his arse like a lifeline.

 

Lauchlan was little more than a gasping, moaning mess by this point, his own cock throbbing and twitching with every twist and pull of the fingers inside of him, begging for touch. His hands were clenched so tightly in the hay that he doubted he could let go without falling flat on his face, but that didn’t stop his hips from twitching forward, jabbing into thin air.

 

Corbin groaned, the sound reverberating through him like electricity, and ever so slowly, Corbin pulled his fingers out of him. Not one at a time, like they had gone in, but all at once, leaving his confused over stretched entrance to flutter and contract futilely, as Corbin laid a final, teasing kiss to it. He trailed his lips downward, laying gentle kisses against his trembling thighs, his sensitive perineum, his clenching, aching sack, his lips mouthing at the seam where they anchored to his body. He murmured something incomprehensible against his skin, licking and kissing him there while his hand idly ran up and down his inner thigh.

 

“What?” Lauchlan croaked, almost surprised to rediscover his voice. He peered over his shoulder, and met Corbin’s eye as he rose up from between his legs. His face was flushed, his lips parted and panting and his pupils had dilated wide, his eyes almost black. Lauchlan’s stomach fluttered and his cock throbbed at the sight. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry as Corbin drank in the sight of him.

 

“I asked you if you felt ready for me yet,” Corbin said, more clearly this time, his eyes sparking with carnal intent that sent fire straight to his crotch.

 

Lauchlan sucked a breath, his heart stuttering.

 

“Yes,” he said, his voice quaking.

 

“Lie on your back,” he growled his voice deep and husky.

 

Lauchlan scrambled into motion, his legs weak from sensation and tangled in the trousers as he flopped onto his side, and finally twisted onto his back. His arms splayed around him and his chest heaving.

 

Corbin’s breath hitched, his hands gravitating back to his hips and gripping them tightly as he stared unashamedly at his throbbing erection. Lauchlan fought the urge to squirm self-consciously at the scrutiny, memories of Ida flashing behind his eyes.

 

Corbin hungrily ducked his head and licked a stripe up it, from base to weeping head. Lauchlan cried out, a shaking, suppressed howl at the contact, his head curling back and his eye fluttering closed, odd colours dancing across his vision. Naked fingers curled around him, squeezing gently and slathering him with that same warm, tingling substance. He dragged his lips down his length again, his beard scratching against his overstimulated flesh. Corbin carded his fingers through stiff curling hair and trailed them down his thigh, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. His tongue darted out, and slowly lapped its way back up to the head of him. Lauchlan moaned through grit teeth, his fingers fisting in the hay beneath him, his head rolling. He forced his eye open again, and glanced down his body. Corbin caught his eye and smirked toothily, before leaning forward and planting a kiss on the bulging head, flicking out his tongue to push back his foreskin and tease at the glistening flesh beneath. The sight of his lips around his cock like that was almost as much of a shock as the sensation itself. Lauchlan shuddered, his body humming, head reeling, his blood singing in his veins.

 

Corbin’s hands suddenly tightened around his knees and gave his cock a parting kiss before breaking away. He rose up, lifting Lauchlan’s legs and using his body weight to push his thighs up against his torso, freeing him from his trousers completely. He took Lauchlan’s wrists and shifted them so that his hands were pressed into the hollows of his knees.

 

“Can you hold that?”

 

Lauchlan shifted gently, holding onto his thighs and straining his legs apart to see how it felt. The muscles in his lower back tensed, strained by the position, but he was more distracted by the odd sensation of openness he felt, the slow, prickling burn only heightening the sensation that anyone could just... lean in and... _oh god._

_“_ Yes!” he gasped, his cock throbbing with the beat of his heart.

 

Corbin’s grin bloomed into a fanged smirk. His hands slithered to his bulging fly, taking their time with the buttons as Lauchlan watched on. Slowly, achingly the wool and linen were peeled back, and his manhood sprung free, glinting with moisture and swelling larger as blood coloured it dark. Corbin groaned at the freedom, his eyes rolling back in his head as his hand dipped down between his legs, and then closed round it, showily offering it the same treatment he had Lauchlan’s own. Lauchlan watched his as he slicked himself with the off red tinted cream, the clean, naked crown of his manhood slipping through his clenched fingers unimpeded. He hadn’t expected him to be circumcised, though he supposed he should have. The dark, curling hair that spilled out of his fly like an encroaching forest was something he had had expected to see though.

 

Corbin flopped forwards again, scooting closer to Lauchlan until their thighs brushed together, wool against skin. Corbin’s breath stuttered, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks and dilating wide over and over as his hand slowly dipped between his splayed thighs, the other still wrapped around the tip of his cock, unabashedly stroking himself. His fingers found his puckered entrance, hot and loose with desire, and he gently urged him open. He lowered himself down, bending toward him until Lauchlan’s own straining manhood nestled against the black wool of Corbin’s pullover, smearing it with sticky pre ejaculate, and the tip of his cock nudged between his legs, searching him out.

 

Lauchlan’s breath caught, his stomach trembling like a plucked bowstring, his cock aching and straining at attention. Inside he felt himself quivering, burning.

 

Corbin sucked in a breath and bit into his bottom lip, sweat beading on his brow in concentration. He traced his cock around his entrance, gently circling around the quivering muscle before he pushed it forward, fingers urging it open and easing the way. 

 

The blunt head of it made Lauchlan want to scream, to claw and struggle as it sunk into him, forcing him open. Corbin just kept pushing, gently forcing it forward it in, gently sliding the tip of his thumbnail in and coaxing him wider still. The thick head finally popped past, Lauchlan gasping like a landed fish and Corbin groaning above him, gnashing his lip hard enough to draw blood. They stayed like that for a moment, Lauchlan reeling from the incredible intimacy of the act. He could feel Corbin’s heart beat, just from this, thrumming through him, into him, compelling his own to flutter and start till it beat to his rhythm. He could feel his own blood pounding in his ears and muscles he hadn’t even known he’d had flexed and swelled with newfound sensitivity. He quivered around Corbin, every spark of flesh against flesh going straight to his own straining cock.

 

Corbin leaned in, bracing his arms either side of his stomach. His eyes slid shut and he gently drove his hips forwards. He hissed through his teeth, a low desperate sound. His hands clenched and gently shaking. He inched his manhood deeper, until Lauchlan could feel coarse hairs tickling at the tender flesh of his arse.

 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he groaned, his voice taut and quavering.

 

Lauchlan gave a breathy moan in reply. The heat within him was incredible, as if it were burning and the rest of him could just start melting in the glow of it. He felt full, comfortably so, and the feeling of being connected so intimately was blissful. Christ, he could just stay like this forever, aching cock be damned.

 

Then Corbin moved.

 

It was barely anything, just an inch, but when Corbin pulled it out it may as well have been mile, it wrenched at him, plucking mercilessly at tender nerves and squeezing the pit of his stomach. Before Lauchlan could recover he flicked his hips forward and thrusted home again.

 

It sent a ripple of sensation through him, coiling in his guts and gripping them tight, his back curling and hands clenching. He cried out soundlessly, his head thrown back and his eye half closed, reeling from the jarring pleasure that burned through him when Corbin sheathed himself, only to drag slowly free again and repeat the motion over, his pace steadily quickening. The sharpness of the sensation was enough to sting, but the sensation of being full, of being _filled_ made the pain feel like a pleasant counter point. He tipped back his head, his teeth sinking into the flesh of his lip as a low guttural sound rattled through him, eye sliding closed as he let the sensation take him.

 

“Look at me damn it, look at me!” Corbin hissed, his voice sounding so tight and so desperate it was almost a whine, exacerbated by the panting cries that sounded with every roll of his hips.

 

Lauchlan’s eye snapped open without thought. Corbin had sounded so _desperate_ that it had gone straight to his cock. He’d do just about anything if he would ask him like that. He looked so different like this, his face shadowed and his skin shining with sweat, but his eyes seemed to pierce through him, arousing him and cowing him all at once.

 

Corbin growled in heady approval as he drank in Lauchlan’s gaze, the rhythm of his hips stuttering in deep, uneven strokes. He shifted his weight onto one arm, the other reaching down and blindly gripping his thigh just above the swell of his arse. Corbin griped him there, his palm open and flat and levering his arse up higher just as his cock came snapping back into him.

 

The quickness of the stroke made his entrance twinge with pain but the sensation that followed engulfed it, engulfed _him_ , the intense heat lancing through him and settling behind his eyes, leaving him gasping, and addled by the intensity of it. His eye fluttered closed by instinct but after a moment watching the fire rattling ‘round behind his eyelids he forced it open again, looking up at Corbin as he drew back out.

 

Corbin panted, breaths escaping in small, breathy “ah” noises as he treated Lauchlan to a few shallow thrusts of his cock, stoking the fiery sensation with each thrust and pull, his eyes never leaving Lauchlan’s as he panted and moaned and writhed with the pleasure of it.

 

“This’ much better, isn’t it?” Corbin huffed, his eyes boring into him as he fought to maintain his composure, but Lauchlan could feel his belly tensing, his voice quavering as he fought not to just loose it all together.

 

Lauchlan agreed, or at least he tried to, Corbin pulled just as he opened his mouth and slammed home before he could form the words, they scattered free into a stammering cry of “Yes!” before the thoughts left his head. He wanted to hold him, grip him tight and smother him with kisses as he filled him like this over and over, but he couldn’t as much as he would have liked to. He settled for linking his ankles behind his back and squeezing his torso between his shins.

 

“Good, that’s... that’s good,” Corbin groaned, his voice tapering off, to the point were he was fairly certain he wasn’t talking to him, he grunted and thrust back inside again, easing them back into a deep, steady rhythm.

 

Lauchlan groaned with every thrust and pull, his nerves alight and his cock leaking as he desperately moaned and writhed and _wanted,_ to the point that keeping his eye open was a struggle. Every time he was entered, every time he was stretched and filled that way he _lost_ it. He didn’t even care that he was pleading and moaning and writhing beneath another man like an animal in heat, he just wanted, with every pull he wanted, and Corbin just kept on _giving_ , deeper and harder with every thrust of his hips. It didn’t take too long after that, not with his cock rubbing so deliciously against the taught muscles of his chest, not with Corbin pounding into him so hard that his body shook from the force and the slap of their hips echoed in the air around them. Not when Corbin leaned in close, groaning and flinging out encouragements between breaths, telling him things he was too far gone to comprehend, but the husk of his voice and wild glint in his eye must had meant they were dirty. When Corbin’s slicked fingers found their way around his cock, gripping and stroking at it for dear life, he just let go. The pressure that had been clenching in the core of him sprang like a trap and lanced through his body like lightning, leaving every nerve from his scalp to his toes white hot and buzzing. He cried out, a shattered, trembling keen as his release splattered against Corbin’s chest.

 

Corbin tensed, his grip on his cock jerking and his hips stuttering as he reared back and thrust into him in shallow, desperate jabs. Each one plucking at trembling nerves and twisting at them, making him simper as his cock demurely clung to arousal, dribbling with every desperate stroke until Corbin finally peaked, his head tipping back as he bit down a strangled moan, his cock roughly twitching inside him as he came.

 

For a long moment they just sat there reeling and heaving for breath, Lauchlan folded nearly double, Corbin on his knees, his cock slowly softening inside of him. For the first time in months Lauchlan felt completely calm, his orgasm still swimming through him and layering his senses in an insulating blanket of static. It blinded him from everything except the slow, languid ringing of it, and the slowing beat of Corbin’s heart. Even his own consciousness was, for once, peacefully still and quiet.

 

Corbin’s hands stroked over his thighs, firm and gentle. It felt nice, in a soothing far off sort of way, and when he gently held his wrists and eased the grip on his legs loose he couldn’t summon the motivation to hold on. His legs flopped forward like dead weights, and Corbin used the momentum to pull himself free, the sickening sensation of emptiness tugged at his insides, and he could feel the warmth of fluid plopping out of him and trickling down his crack. More than anything else though, he mourned the loss of connection, missed the thrum of his heartbeat within him and the warmth of his hands. He tried to lever himself up onto his elbows to look at Corbin, but found that his limbs had little more strength than jelly.

 

Corbin seemed to realize his struggles, or perhaps he felt the same, because he flopped down beside him a moment later. He wriggled a little, wedging himself sideways into the tiny gap between himself and the wall of straw beside him, his head nestled between his shoulder and his neck, and his arm splayed across his chest, warm and heavy.

 

They panted together, warm breaths ghosting over his neck and fingers idly stroking his chest as their sweat cooled and he thought of absolutely nothing. Corbin pressed the plane of his forehead to his cheek and he felt lips being pressed to his neck. He sighed, and shifted, lazy warmth sweeping in on the heels of ecstasy and lulling him to rest. He turned, his eye finding Corbin’s and smiled, if only because he lacked the energy to speak, wetting his lips subconsciously. Corbin returned it achingly sincerely, and leaned in to kiss him. Lauchlan’s first thought surfaced and he contemplated where that tongue had just been, but he decided he couldn’t care less and took the kiss he’d been offered. It was an unhurried, sloppy affair, neither of them had the coordination or energy to put any force into it. He circled his arm around Corbin’s waist, holding him loosely against him as they coasted together.

 

Eventually the cold began to have its way, settling on Lauchlan’s exposed legs and raising gooseflesh from them, he shivered gently.

 

“We should get you covered up,” Corbin groaned tiredly, and clumsily extracted himself from Lauchlan’s embrace.

 

He kneeled upright in what little space was available, straddling one of Lauchlan’s splayed thighs. He reached into his back pocket, taking out a hip flask and a small square of cloth. He wet the cloth and slowly cleaned himself with it, hissing as the fabric raked over sensitized flesh, before tucking himself back into his pants and buttoning up. He wet the cloth again, scrubbed it against itself and brought it down between Lauchlan’s legs. It was warm from his body heat, and the cloth felt well worn and soft. He cleaned away the worst of the mess and then turned his attention to his crotch, wiping off the flaking remnants of his release and the cream.

 

Lauchlan’s breath hitched at the contact, flinching when the cloth closed around his manhood and tugged at his foreskin. He reached out, raising his torso up to grab at Corbin’s hand. Corbin intercepted it before he could grab him, gently curling his fingers around the joint between wrist and palm and smoothly laying it back across his chest, stroking the back of his hand soothingly as he finished cleaning him up. It was a little embarrassing to be looked after like this, after all, he was perfectly capable of cleaning up after his own bodily functions, but there was something very comforting about the gesture, so he let him. He wasn’t above creature comforts, even if he found his face heating when their eyes met.

 

Once he was finished with Lauchlan, he stretched out the hem of his pullover, examining the pearly splatter that Lauchlan had left there, picking at it with his thumbnail before deeming it a lost cause. He picked up Lauchlan’s trousers, which had been twisted into a sodden coil and shoved both the flask, cloth and the tin which Lauchlan had long since forgotten about into its pockets.

 

He scrambled up out of the hay trousers in hand and Lauchlan could hear him ferreting around in his suitcase, which he had left up there and returned a minute later with a clean pair of trousers and undergarments. He tossed them onto his chest, landing with a satisfying “fwump” before sliding back down into the bed.

 

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” said Corbin, he frowned, concerned, and he began searching around for the blankets, those they hadn’t been laying on had been kicked down to the end of the bed in their passion, and they’d formed a tangled wad.

 

Lauchlan gnawed his lip guiltily as he struggled up onto his elbows, he had been awfully quiet, in fact, he’d been incredibly quiet the whole way through. No, that wasn’t right. He’d made plenty of noise, but he’d been passive. Shouldn’t he have been doing a little more? This was supposed to be all about Corbin’s needs after all, and he had been incredibly considerate of his.

 

“I’m sorry... I just, I’m just feeling a little overcome,” his voice hoarse and raw as sandpaper against his throat, Christ, he had been vocal. It was only minutes ago but it felt like he was an entirely different person when he had been under Corbin, unthinking, physical and raw. He couldn’t say he regretted it, but the thought of being so easily changed was a bit frightening now the euphoria had worn off.

 

He pushed the thoughts out of his mind as soon as he realised they had entered. Couldn’t he last a few hours without worrying over something? He felt good, _happy_ and he wanted to stay that way for a little while longer. He didn’t know when he’d next get the chance. He forced himself into a sitting position, his back creaking in indignation and his arms and legs rife with pins and needles. He picked up the undergarments and began struggling into them, rocking his weight back and forth so he could tug them on without having to stand up.

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Corbin said, smirking, and he flapped a blanket out for dramatic effect.

 

An amicable silence settled in, Lauchlan struggling to dress himself and Corbin setting up the bedding, if it were anyone else he’d have called the scene domestic, which was surreal in itself. Corbin finished before he did, layering the blankets on top of each other and tucking them down the sides of the bales, and layering a clean blanket over the soiled one that they’d been lying on, requiring Lauchlan to shuffle awkwardly back and forth with his pants bunched around his knees. Eventually Lauchlan managed to wrestle them on in spite of his uncooperative limbs. He collapsed back down as soon as he had his fly done, his back instantly thanking him, and sighed. He was bone tired, absolutely exhausted, and the hay felt about as good as a feather mattress right now. His tired introspection was interrupted when Corbin all but fell onto his chest, half his body covering his.

 

“Make some room, will you,” he grumbled in mock anger.

 

Lauchlan grunted and wiggled back, sliding out from under his heavy weight and laying comfortably on his blind side, his back against the hay. Corbin grunted happily and tugged the blankets up to their chins, shoving a pillow he’d found between them and rolling over, presenting the back of his head to Lauchlan.

 

Lauchlan felt slightly miffed, and he shifted his arms uncomfortably wondering what to do with them. His legs wandered, stretching gently and bumping up against Corbin’s. His knees sliding against the flesh of Corbin’s shins, his body warm and lax in his exhaustion. Lauchlan breathed in the scent of him, he was rather sweaty, they both were, but the smell wasn’t overpowering. The scent of sex was lingering but it wasn’t particularly unpleasant either, just omnipresent, covering them like a skin. Corbin’s own smell was still underneath it all, earthy and sharp all at once. Lauchlan scooted closed to him, leaning his forehead against the base of his skull and his face in the hollow of his neck. His hair was a little damp still but he didn’t mind much, it was nice. He folded his arms against his chest, and edged a little closer, curling his body around his as discretely as he could.

 

Corbin made an annoyed “tich” noise, and Lauchlan realized that he hadn’t had the chance to fall asleep yet. He shrunk back embarrassed and expecting a jab at his clinging.

 

Corbin reached back, his hand blindly pawing behind him before his fingers closed around his left arm. He tugged it upward, pulling his forearm out from between them and to Lauchlan’s surprised he then leaned back into the expanse of chest he had vacated, blearily grunting and settling flush against him. Lauchlan blinked, a surprised blush rising to his cheeks as the warmth of Corbin’s back suffused into him. This was, unexpected, and very nice indeed. He hadn’t thought Corbin would want affection, after all, he had seemed so crass and pushy before. Then again, he had been resting against him the last time they’d met, so what did he know? He hadn’t exactly had many experiences to draw from.

 

He hadn’t had the chance to do this with Ida, she’d been too angry, too hurt and she’d wanted to go home, not lay down with him. He understood that now, but at the time he’d felt so cheated, so confused by her reaction and her unwillingness to let him hold her and comfort her when she claimed to have been hurt. He’d thought the gesture would be like it was when he had been small, when his mother would take him into her arms and talk to him about inconsequential things and fairy stories till he drifted off to sleep. It was a comforting thing, a chaste thing, but this was different. It wasn’t sexual, but the desire was there, the slow, thrumming reminder of what they’d done, what they’d do again. It tingled inside his ribs, making him lightheaded and content. Like everything was right with the world. He slung his arm across Corbin, tracing down his shoulder, and his arm till he found his hands, one clenched in the blankets, the other empty. He took one holding it in his own and tucked them both against Corbin’s chest. He cuddled closer burying his face into the crook of his neck and intertwining their legs. If Corbin were completely awake he’d have probably contested having his hand held, but he wasn’t and frankly Lauchlan thought that their relationship had reached a point where hand holding was appropriate.

 

He breathed in his scent, below the sex and sweat, and pressed a little kiss against his clothed shoulder, bidding him goodnight.


	6. Know Which Side Your Bread Is Buttered On

 

For the second time Lauchlan awoke in the dark with his nose pressed into greasy, tangled hair and his limbs trapped in a clinging embrace. Thankfully there was a conspicuous lack of dancing pachyderms this time around.

 

He squeezed Corbin happily, if only reassure himself that the other man was still there. He had let go of his hand in the night, but his arm was still securely circled around Corbin’s waist and his head nestled in the crook of his neck.  Remarkably, he felt quite comfortably warm. He still had that damp crusty feeling gained from sleeping somewhere not quite sealed, but he didn’t feel as if his toes were going numb and his nose might snap off if he sneezed too hard, as he had the previous night. He nuzzled deeper into Corbin’s tangle of hair, breathing in the scent of him and basking in his natural heat. This, he could definitely grow used to.   

 

It was not to last though, once he was awake, he was awake, and no matter how comfortable he was he couldn’t just shut out his thoughts to enjoy it properly. Not when there was work to do. He had to rise, light the fire in the brazier, fetch a new lantern, muck the stalls, feed the horses. In all actuality he missed giving them their evening feed in the excitement yesterday, they would surely be miserably cold and hungry now. The thought stirred Lauchlan out of his comfortable haze and he worried his lip out of habit, Corbin’s hair sticking to the moisture of it and infiltrating his mouth. Lauchlan spluttered, shaking his head and arching his head away from it, surprised by the sudden sensory input. He released Corbin’s waist to sweep the hair free with his hand. He scooted back a little, leaning against the hay and pulling a face at the unpleasant sensation of cool air rushing in between their bodies.

 

He took hold the blankets and carefully tucked them against the plane of Corbin’s back, trapping what warmth was left against him. Corbin stirred lazily in response, his legs pulling closer to his body, the ridge of his heel stroking up Lauchlan’s shin, but he did not seem to wake fully. Lauchlan felt himself smiling warmly, and smoothed the wrinkles from the blanket with a long sweep of his hand.

 

The upwelling of affection at the touch surprised him, warmth flooding his mind like fog and tinting his perception. It should have been awkward, upsetting even, given the circumstances. Yet, he couldn’t muster any sort of distaste for the situation at all. It felt right to wake this way, to smile, to touch and feel the other man, to lie down beside him and feel content. It was as if some fragment of the pleasure of their night together had wormed its way into his chest and had every intention of staying in there.

 

He supposed it was natural, for fondness to be bred by intimacy, if a little backward. But, somehow, Lauchlan doubted that the feeling would stay, not for long. Corbin had been considerate, deft and devilishly good at what they’d done, but he was only here to take what he’d been promised. Once Corbin had what he wanted there would be no telling what he’d do, probably vanish from Lauchlan’s life as suddenly as he’d entered it.

 

The thought was surprisingly bitter, though Lauchlan couldn’t say precisely why. When all was said and done he hardly knew the man at all.

 

That was what made the situation so confusing. It wasn’t quite right for strangers to just fall into bed with one another. If these were vaguely normal circumstances it would be perfectly ordinary to lavish his partner with affection, but here and now that wasn’t wanted or warranted. There was no way of knowing what was acceptable and what wasn’t. Corbin was not a stranger, a friend, nor a lover. He was Corbin, a class all of his own.

 

Lauchlan wished he knew just how to feel about that.

 

He shook himself from his pondering and resolutely rolled as far onto his stomach as the limited space allowed, bowing his knee’s and heaving his weight onto his elbows, trying to wedge himself up and out of the small space without disturbing Corbin. The moment he began easing his torso up the attempt was thwarted by a shrill ache that came screeching up his thigh like a locomotive. He gasped, whimpered and thumped back down like a stone. It was like someone had stuck a fork into the muscle and swirled it, coiling it tighter and tighter until something snapped, leaving a tight, hot, ball of agony in the middle of his thigh.  He grit his teeth, resolutely trying not to make a sound as he gingerly flexed the muscles of his buttocks and shins in turn, trying to find out just what had triggered the angry flare. The pain was sharp, focused in his inner left thigh, tugging on his pelvis as it flexed. He kneaded gently at the pulled muscle with his fingers. It ached fiercely to touch and trying to flex it was worse, the muscle screaming and the nexus of pain shifting and tugging at what felt like every other fibre of his being.

 

“What are you doing?” asked Corbin, blearily peering back over his shoulder at him.

 

Lauchlan’s breath hitched, and he glanced up to meet Corbin’s sleepy eyed gaze. He flushed with embarrassment at his position, his body hunched over, his buttocks in the air and a hand reaching between his thighs. It seemed that being caught with his pants down was to be a reoccurring trend with Corbin, though thankfully not literally this time.

 

“I think I’ve pulled something in my leg,” muttered Lauchlan, his face heated and mouth dry.

 

Corbin chuckled, a grin on his lips and a spark in his eye. He rose up on his elbows and pushed himself up to sit on his haunches, his eyes raking over Lauchlan’s prone form like a hawk would a newborn lamb.

 

Lauchlan squirmed uncomfortably, pulling his hand away and trying to regain some degree of dignity.

 

Corbin reached out to him. He rested a hand in the small of his back and patted it comfortingly before moving down to his injured thigh. He pressed, gentle and firm, and slowly eased his hand around until he found the painful knot of muscle. He explored it tenderly, feeling the shape and depth of it with the pads of his fingers.

 

Lauchlan hissed, whimpering as pain flared up at the touch, but he bit the sound down before it could reach Corbin’s ear, clenching his fists and trying to appear as unaffected as possible.

 

“I think you’ve just gone and cramped it. It’s not like you make a habit of spreading your legs like that. Having me lying on top of you all night certainly hasn’t helped,” said Corbin, having the decency to sound a little sheepish as he slowly rubbed at the fiery spot, digging his fingers into the tissue and slowly easing them outward, teasing away the tightly coiled stress little by little.

 

It was painful, like touching a raw nerve, but the ministrations seemed to dull it, little by little, slowly untangling the overwound muscle.

 

“You know the best way to deal with these is to walk them off, right?” asked Corbin, digging his thumbs in deeply enough to make Lauchlan’s breath hitch.

 

Lauchlan quivered at the prospect of actually moving around with his leg in its current state, but Corbin was right, and it was quite inevitable. He had duties to attend to and no excuse, no matter how valid, would relieve him of them. He wet his lips, heaved a fortifying breath, and slowly heaved himself back up onto his elbows, then up onto his stomach, and eventually dragging his good leg beneath him and rising to a half kneel, his cramped thigh screaming and aching with every jostle.  Corbin’s gentle touches had made it a feel a world better but it was still enough for his eye to prickle and teeth to grind without his consent.

 

“Easy man, I didn’t mean now!” exclaimed Corbin, mildly surprised. His hands were still curled around his tender inner thigh as he rose, and his brow creased in concern.

 

Lauchlan felt the weight of Corbin’s worried gaze on him, and felt humiliation prick at him for being so easily affected. This, what ever this was, was nothing, a simple pang. It shouldn’t have been enough to lay him low like this. Not after everything he’d been though and certainly not in front of a man like Corbin, who could flay him open with a jab of his acid tongue and have him dancing to whatever tune he played with a handful of words. The bitter thoughts jabbed at him like carrion crows at a carcass and twisted at his fraying nerves. He tried to silence them, shutting his eye and willing them away but the embarrassment was hot and raw, and his bitter thoughts pecked and tore at it as if they were starving.

 

Corbin squeezed his leg comfortingly, forgetting the injury or simply ignoring it, and the pain that lanced through him chased off what little was left of his circling, self-berating impulses. The tender, steady motions of Corbin’s thumbs began to soothe the more physical pangs. He was being foolish, he realised, blaming Corbin for his problems again. That wouldn’t do. He opened his eye, meekly gazing down into his lap, where Corbin was still steadfastly working away at the painful cramp with his thumbs. He followed the line of his arms up to the planes of his squared shoulders, the column of his neck and the bristled curve of his jaw. Corbin was still looking at him, but that was all he was doing, looking, nothing more. Lauchlan cursed himself for thinking such a thing at all, if Corbin wanted to insult him it would be because Lauchlan had brought it down upon his own head. After all he’d done he deserved it, and Corbin had been, _was_ being, good to him.

 

Why was it that every time the man touched him he was reduced to a nervous wreck? It couldn’t be healthy.

 

“I have work to do, it can’t be put off. I should just walk this off, like you said,” he murmured, gently trying to garner to courage to break away from Corbin’s touch and stand. It wasn’t going to be pleasant, but the quicker it was done the better.

 

“Does nothing else hurt?” Corbin asked, his lips twitched into a smile again, though it seemed a little less smug than usual.

 

Lauchlan felt his face heat again, and his stomach gave a queasy roll as he remembered the vivid bruising he’d imprinted into Corbin’s flesh, the blood he’d seen dried around his... he shuddered, shucking off the line of thought as quickly as he could, steering himself into gentler, happier territory. Corbin had been good to him. He was fine. He _knew_ he was fine, so why on earth did he suddenly doubt it? He gingerly flexed what muscles he could, feeling residual stickiness between his legs and stiffness in his joints, but no painful resistance or tugging of scabs. He was fine. It was just a god-forsaken cramp.

 

“I’m fine, I just need a good wash,” he muttered, tersely.

 

He leaned backwards into the hay for a moments support before stiffly raising his arms up and gripping the edge of the bale. He heaved his body upright, supporting his weight on his forearms and then again on his knee, dragging himself up to perch on the ledge with a heave of his shoulders. His other leg screamed all the way and refused to straighten, at least not without a fight. He nursed it tenderly, digging the heel of his palm into the knot and slowly rubbing in circles like Corbin had done, flexing his shin back and forth as much as his body allowed.

 

Corbin turned away from him, his expression unreadable, and carded through the blankets. He retrieved his discarded gloves from their folds and jerked them onto his hands. He stood, kicking the linens back into a vaguely smooth, bed like shape, and clambered ungracefully upwards and out, where he left Lauchlan’s field of vision.

 

Lauchlan continued to tug and pull at his injury, every touch painful but each movement allowing him just a little more reach.

 

Corbin thumped back down into the bed in front of him in a blur of black wool and greasy hair, very nearly giving Lauchlan a heart attack in the process. He gasped audibly and clasped a hand over his chest, reclaiming the stolen breath. Corbin bounced on his heels to steady himself, flashing another smug grin his way before he turned his attention to the bundle he held. He was holding his pair of socks, which Lauchlan hadn’t noticed he’d been without. He unrolled them and put them on Lauchlan’s feet before he could really realise what he was doing, and hopped back up to sit beside him.

 

It took Lauchlan a moment to register what Corbin had done, and when it did he blushed furiously. It just seemed such a personal thing to do, like some gesture of humility or reverence he vaguely remembered from the Bible he’d been taught to read by. The idea of Corbin in that place just ran against the grain, it was wrong somehow, out of character at the very least. He may have been reading too deeply into things but it still pushed his doubts to the fore, and lit them in a very unflattering light. Perhaps his assumptions of affection being unwelcome were misinformed, and or completely unfounded to begin with? Perhaps Corbin felt the same irrepressible warmth that he had, only he hadn’t given the man a chance to indulge in it before making an issue of his own discomfort. Lauchlan ducked his head shamefully, recognising another bout of selfishness and berating himself for it. He knew what lay down that path and he had no interest in revisiting it, but there were still times he didn’t manage to catch himself in time.

 

“I’m sorry. I haven’t been the most pleasant of company this morning, have I?” murmured Lauchlan, bashfully scratching at the nape of his neck.

 

Corbin made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and rolled his shoulders, his back popping loudly as he flexed.

 

“So, what is this work, and what do you want me to do?” barked Corbin, a moment later he punctuated it with a clap of his hands.

 

“What? Oh, no no, you don’t have to do anything. You’re my guest,” spluttered Lauchlan. It wouldn’t be fair for Corbin to do his work for him, no matter how much he’d appreciate the help.

 

“What would you rather have me do? Sit in the corner and look pretty? I’d go mad with boredom,” he chuckled lightheartedly at that, his eyes scrunching closed and his head shaking twice from side to side.

 

Lauchlan found himself laughing along with him, the image of Corbin perching atop one of the banisters and flapping a cane around like a smaller, scruffier, fowl mouthed version of his stern overseer popping into his thoughts.

 

“Well, if you could help me up I’d appreciate it,” said Lauchlan, feeling better for the lost tension.

 

Corbin hummed in agreement and rose to his feet. He walked behind him, bracing his legs on either side of his body and gripping him by his underarms.

 

Lauchlan leaned into Corbin’s shins, breathing deeply for support before pulling his legs up and scrabbling to rise, Corbin hauling him up from behind, supporting the weight of his shoulders against the plain of his chest. His leg ached but still obeyed him, albeit grudgingly. Lauchlan favoured it still, the ache sharp but not unbearable, though it took a moment to adjust to being upright.  

 

Corbin’s hands were still curled around his upper arms, and as Lauchlan got his feet again Corbin slowly released his grip. His palms ghosted down Lauchlan’s sides, the touch soft and relaxed, before briefly settling around his hips. Lauchlan felt his face heat as Corbin held him, carnal memories jumping to the fore, fresh and as intense as anything Lauchlan had yet known.

 

Corbin dropped his hands after a moment, wandering back around to face him.

 

“You alright?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in it’s seemingly perpetual quirk.

 

Lauchlan blushed sharply, thankful that he had the gloom of the hayloft to conceal it.

 

“Mostly. This isn’t exactly how I expected to spend this morning, to be honest. Not looking forward to dragging the days hay down either,” he murmured.

 

Corbin made another of his noncommittal noises, unique in tone and inflection but no less incomprehensible than the rest of his repertoire. He waited for him to say something else, snark or self-satisfied humour, but none came. He took the silence as a cue to go on his way and turned, tenderly clambering down to the floor of the loft. The hay crunched behind him as Corbin followed.

 

The stable had enough hay to last the worst of the winter, all stacked haphazardly up in the airy loft. There were all manner of vermin living amongst it, insects and rodents alike, but there was little to be done about it, aside from catching stray cats and loosing them into the barn, which the stable boys delighted in. The feral creatures never stayed long though, the constant clatter of iron shod horses on flagstones was too loud, the children to eager to lash out with kicks, and the vermin too deeply entrenched to be worth the trouble.

 

He went to the lift, a simple wooden cage, no bigger than a picnic blanket, suspended from the roof by a rope and pulley and operated by a hand winch that lowered it up and down through a square hole in the lofts floor. The process of loading it up with heavy hay bales was a little more delicate than normal. Usually he’d just haul it up, prop one end against his thighs, grab hold of the twine and half carry half drag the cumbersome bale to the lift. His leg, and other unmentionables seemed to dislike the idea of crouching quite intensely, so he fumbled with it, dragging it clumsily along until a pair of hands joined his and lent him their strength. It was hard to see him in the gloom, but Corbin seemed intent on helping, following after him and lending his back to whatever Lauchlan tried to pick up, so he held his tongue. It was embarrassing, to need help with such simple tasks, but Lauchlan was in no place to turn the goodwill away. Once the little cage was full he pulled the pin on the brake and did what little he could to control it’s decent. The mechanism groaned and shuddered as it went to work, the pulley squeaking away as the heavy cage was lowered down, before grinding the brake and returning the stopper pin to it’s place, the cage a foot above the floor below.

 

“Well that wasn’t nearly as strenuous as you made it out to be,” said Corbin, cheek in his voice.

 

“We’ll need at least five more loads,” said Lauchlan, a little incredulous. There were sixty horses here, surely he didn’t think that this small amount was enough.

 

Corbin groaned in answer, his shoulders sagging exaggeratedly before he straightened again and dusted flecks of hay from his sleeves.

 

“If you don’t mind going downstairs and unloading the cage for me we can get this done a bit quicker. The floor end is easier,” said Lauchlan, trying to placate the man in earnest.

 

Corbin scoffed, crossed his arms against his chest, and fixed him a look that pierced through the gloom by the power of sheer irritation.

 

“Can you lift one of these on your own?” said Corbin, his voice authoritive, as he was assured he knew the answer already.

 

“Normally,” said Lauchlan, his arms defensively crossed over his chest.

 

“But today’s not normal,” he quipped right back, unperturbed.

 

“Well, no,”

 

“Then take the easy end for once. It won’t kill you,” said Corbin, scoffing and nudging Lauchlan aside.

 

Lauchlan returned to incredulity again. The bales each weighed a good eighty pounds or so apiece and he doubted Corbin would have the strength to move them alone either. He didn’t think the proud man would admit that until he found out for himself though, and he’d be grateful to have his boots and coat back before he caught a chill. 

 

Acquiescing, he warned Corbin of the temperamental brake and slowly made his way downstairs. The staircase was intimidating in the dark of the morning, the small gaslights set into the wall of little benefit at all, so he took his time, holding the thin, wobbly handrail tight as he descended. 

 

His little corner was much as he’d left it, his coat crumpled over the crate where it had been abandoned in their rush, his boots by the fire, next to Corbin’s own tattered shoes and folded coat. The fire had died but the ashes were still warm and clinging to the shape of the dead coals.  His coat was dryer than it had been when he’d left it. Still cool and damp, but that wasn’t surprising, given he’d been too preoccupied to spread it out properly. He shrugged it on and took a moment to lace on his boots tightly and straighten out his appearance, keenly aware that he stunk of sex and sweat, and was thoroughly ungroomed in general.

 

With Corbin around in much the same state, he found he didn’t mind much. Besides, Corbin would probably enjoy seeing him so debauched instead of taking offense.

 

He set back to work quickly, opening the cage and dragging the bales free, gravity doing most of his work for him with the cage dangling at waist level. Once he emptied it he rattled the cord to get Corbin’s attention, and sure enough, after a moment Corbin began slowly winching the cage back up. It was slow work, and Lauchlan had half a mind to go back up the stairs to help him, but by the time he got there Corbin would probably be finished. He waited a few minutes, fiddling with the sleeves of his coat in his distraction as he worried that Corbin was struggling, but after a while a full cage was lowered down for him to unload, and then slowly returned to the loft again for the next. They fell easily into the work. Lauchlan pulling free the bales and organising them into neat rows while Corbin winched up the cage and refilled it, taking a good while longer than it would have Lauchlan on a good day, but filling it none the less, and it was certainly easier than it had been to do so by himself. Simply tossing the hay down the stairs wasn’t an option. He had discovered that they bounced and rolled surprisingly easily once they’d gathered momentum, and horses didn’t take well to an eighty pound missile suddenly bouncing out from nowhere and bashing into the sides of their stalls, in fact it outright terrified them. It had taken the better part of an hour for the poor beasts to calm down.

 

Eventually they built up an adequate amount of feed, and he heard the distinctive crunching of footsteps move around above him as Corbin started down the stairs.

 

The horses had roused themselves at the sound of the lift’s decent, and they were growing excited, shifting and pacing in their stalls, necks outstretched and ears pricked as they saw their breakfast lowered down from the loft for them, many of the sprier beasts snorting and pawing at the ground in anticipation. Lauchlan contemplated trying to lift one of the bales again, but his own stomach decided to make its current state known, as did other calls of nature. He used the spare moment of privacy to duck away into an empty stall and tend to natures call. It wasn’t ideal, but the outhouses were, well, out and hence inaccessible. Sequestering it away here was the best he could manage. The stall in question was close to the small, maintenance workers door, a relic from the hives days as a weaving factory, and the draft left a frost upon it that kept smell to a bearable level. He felt oddly sticky since the night before. Whatever that concoction of Corbin’s was difficult to clean off, it clung to him, dully reflective and sticking his hair together in clumps. He grimaced imagining the unpleasant procedure of washing that out when all this was over, not to mention the other parts of him that had received the same treatment. He tucked himself away, fidgeting as his undergarments caught against the tacky substance before walking back to his brazier as normally as he could manage. Corbin was there and seemed to have caught onto the same vein of thought that Lauchlan had. He had cleared away most of the ash and was arranging new tinder and coals to light.

 

“Thankyou, you’re getting ahead of me,” said Lauchlan, cheerily.

 

Corbin cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t raise his head to respond. Instead he produced a matchbook from his pocket and struck it, coaxing the tinder to light.

 

Lauchlan couldn’t help but feel a little slighted by Corbin’s quicksilver moods. He wondered what he’d done to bother him now, but came up with nothing. He sighed, and saw about fetching the tea kettle and some bread and butter for their breakfast. The horses would probably protest having to wait a minute longer, riled as they were, but he couldn’t start the day on an empty stomach and he doubted Corbin would either. Last night’s porridge was long congealed and inedible, though he would probably end up giving it to one of the younger horses anyway. Some of them were bottomless pits and anything that could slow them down would be a good thing. There were also a few small apples left. They were beginning to go brown and he doubted they’d be particularly appetising, but he pocketed them none the less, thinking that he may as well offer them to his favourite horses before they began to mould. All of the bread was stale, but it would be all right once toasted and given a liberal spread of jam and butter. He filled the kettle from the urn he kept by the fire measuring out enough for two cups of tea, as well as setting out the sugar and the jar of powdered milk in case Corbin wanted them. Finally he picked out some of the candles he’d been given, deciding to see to the gaslights and leave Corbin to the kettle.

 

He stood, and went to the brazier. The small fire cast a warm, flickering glow over the two of them as they stooped over it.

 

Their nocturnal activities seemed to have done Corbin a world of good. He looked more rested, his face more relaxed and open and his skin had lost its pallor, though it may have simply been the way of the light. He was certainly rumpled, more so than Lauchlan himself, his trousers and pullover creased beyond smoothing, his hair tangled and curling every which way but down and the cuffs of his shirt and his front were soiled by something shiny and white. Lauchlan stared at the marks for a moment, before realising exactly what it was he was staring at so intently, his throat sticking and his cheeks heating.

 

It was, well, his.

 

He’d spilled his own damned seed onto the man and he was walking around with it plastered all over him, plain to anyone with eyes to see, as if it were nothing. Embarrassment didn’t begin to cut it, it wasn’t strong enough of a word. No, it was shameful. Did he have no decency? To parade around with such a thing on display, where anyone could look at him and know, _know_ that he’d had another man squirming under him, that he’d had them and worked them until they spent against him.

 

Know that Lauchlan had been that man, done those things.

 

_But there was no one there to see._

 

He had to take a moment to remind himself of that. To remember that it would be days, weeks, before Jasper would strut in to claim his hansom, before the staunch overseer would make his inspections, before the legion of stable boys would cough and glare and mutter. For the storms course, there was just Corbin and Lauchlan.

 

Lauchlan wasn’t sure how he felt about that either.

 

To deny that he’d enjoyed himself would be a foolish, pointless lie, which he refused to entertain But to see the result of that act displayed so casually was enough to make him burn with embarrassment and humiliation. If Corbin planned to keep wearing that around then it would be incredibly difficult to remain composed. Just looking at it made him shudder, remembering what it was and how he came to put it there. It was indecent to think such thoughts in company, and to imagine that Corbin might be doing the same. Was he? It was certainly possible, and there’s no reason he wouldn’t. To think that Corbin might be picturing him like that, lusting for him when his back was turned, imagining what was yet to come, it made something stir in the pit of his stomach, and the rest of him to squirm with embarrassment. But, would the thoughts really do him harm? What had happened, happened and there was no taking it back. As things stood he was probably looking far too deeply into it anyway, they had both slept in their clothes and Corbin had yet to change or don his coat, so of course Lauchlan’s release would still be there.

 

Still though, seeing the evidence displayed so plainly, so casually, made his stomach flip, and his manhood twitch in fond memory.

 

“So, what do you take in your tea?” asked Corbin, the sound enough to jolt him from his revere and thrust him into awareness.

 

“Nothing. Black is fine,” he said, averting his eye from the conspicuous blotch.

 

Corbin hummed in affirmation and plopped the kettle above the small fire to heat, mixing a little of the powdered milk and water in a tin mug. Lauchlan found himself staring after the motion of his wrist, the dull reflection of the residue speckled there as it swirled around and around, and found his throat had become dry.

 

Corbin coughed, and Lauchlan’s gaze jolted upwards again, blushing furiously and his breath stuttering. Corbin gave him a look, a disturbingly knowing look, and Lauchlan’s skin crawled with the realisation that he had been caught.

 

Corbin grinned, all self confidence and pride. He sat down atop a crate, one leg crossed over the other. The light licked up and down his frame, deepening every crease and fold of his clothes and casting him in a warm yellow shade. Slowly, deliberately, he tapped the teaspoon against the rim of the mug, letting the excess milk drip down before lifting it up to his mouth and...

 

Lauchlan looked away. He didn’t want to think about what else he owed the man, no matter how appealing it may seem to his excitable loins. Not when there was work yet to be done. He lit a thin candle from the fire, and cupped the flickering light until it’s spluttering eased into a steady flame, putting the spares into his pocket.

 

“I’m going to light the floor before we have breakfast. I won’t be too long,” he muttered, speaking more to the candle than the man beside him, and set off before Corbin saw fit to remind him of what else he had put his mouth to.

 

The horses all perked up as he passed them, each softly snorting and reaching out with their noses for scritches and tidbits, and he obliged half-heartedly, giving each inquiring beast a gently stroke down the bridge of it’s nose as he passed by. It was dark, with the doors sealed and the shutters drawn as they often were in winter, so there were simple brass gaslights mounted around the interior walls as well as a few on the floor itself, on the support columns, and at the ends of the stall rows. The smell of horseflesh was overpowering, even more so than normal, the fog of their breath and the clap of their iron shod hooves filling the air as they roused. Despite his best efforts they had grown dirty, their manes tangled and their hooves and soft feathering soiled by their waste. He was only one man after all, and try as he might keeping sixty horses by himself was beyond his capabilities, though he somehow found the energy to muck their stalls and keep them in food and water, there was not enough time in the day to groom them, pick their hooves or exercise them as they should have been. It wasn’t particularly healthy, but it was the best he could do on his own. When he did find a spare moment to warm himself by the fire, he felt guilty for it, though there was little point in grooming a single horse of sixty when it would only be put back into a unsatisfactorily stall to become filthy again. Still, he wished he could do more for them. They gave their backs for his living every day, from dawn ‘till dusk untill the day they could work no more, and they deserved so much more in return for their dedication.

 

He stopped by one of his favourite mares, a chestnut named Camilla. Camilla was a mix breed, like many of the drafts, but Lauchlan was reasonably sure that there was a good deal of Shire and a little bit of Vanner in her blood, due to her looming stature and long, wispy feathering. She was a towering, powerful beast but still she remained elegantly proportioned and amicable in nature. Her gait was steady and surefooted, her head always proudly raised and her posture regal and dignified as only a beast her size could be. She was beginning to push her twentieth year, an impressive feat for a working horse, or any horse really, and though she could still pull her hansom her age was showing more than ever. Her breast and neck were going bald from the harness, her eyes becoming clouded, her hearing fading more and more. She had already been marked for sale in the local papers, the asking price a pittance. But as aged as she was she was of little use to anyone, even though her back was just as strong as it always had been. Lauchlan worried for her, though he knew he shouldn’t. Twenty was a very good run for a horse of any vocation, and she had been kept well for all of her life at B&B. But the though of consigning her to the glue factory was more than a little upsetting, she had worked so very hard for so very long, and to just throw that away for the sake of her age felt hugely unjust.

 

He called to her, tutting and whistling until her ears pricked and she ambled over to him, nickering in greeting and an unsubtle request for food.

 

“I know, I know, you’re hungry. I’m sorry,” he murmured.

 

He rubbed her nose gently, allowing her to nibble his fingers in plaintive apology. He offered her the best of the apples. She snorted ruefully, nosing it and sniffing deeply before she took a bite from it, tearing away more than half of the small fruit in her hunger and crunching it noisily. Her stall mate awoke at the sound of her noisy crunching and trotted over to her side, braying eagerly in request of her own share. He offered up what was left of the apple in the interest of fairness, and she snatched it up as soon as his fingers released it, chewing so sloppily that pieces of apple flesh were sent splattering to the ground. Camilla snorted in outrage at the remainder of her snack being consumed so wastefully.

 

“Yes I know, you’ll get a proper breakfast as soon as I get mine, I promise,” he said, shushing her with a gentle pat to her nose, pausing to let her lick the apple juice from his palm.

 

Eventually he managed to tear himself away from her sloppy affections and finish with his task, devouring an age softened apple himself as he went. The gaslights were woefully inadequate in the huge barn, each casting only a small circle of flickering yellow light and long, treacherous shadows, but it was better than the persistent gloom of before.

 

Lauchlan returned to the fireside and was relieved to discover that Corbin had donned his coat and boots again and was toasting two bread rolls over the fire. He was sipping his own tea while Lauchlan’s stood steaming on the ground beside the brazier.

 

Lauchlan smiled warmly, and took up the steaming cup, taking a tentative sip of the brew. It was well made, strong and scalding hot, and he took a moment just to relish in the warmth of it.

 

“All done?” Corbin asked. He prodded at the bread, for a moment, the toasted crusts making a soft crunching noise under the treatment. He fished them out, sawed them open with a knife Lauchlan hadn’t seen him procure and slathered them in butter, which began melting so swiftly that the jam started to slide off as soon as it was spread on.

 

“At this point it’s barely begun, though they can wait a few more minutes yet,” he said with a shrug, sitting and gladly accepting his share of the toast, offering the last speckled apple in return.

 

They ate and drank in companionable silence, crunching toast and sipping tea. Corbin ate the apple he’d given him, but instead of biting into it he sliced it daintily, cutting it longways into thin disks that he’d fold in half and chewed with far more thought and thoroughness than seemed warranted by the humble fruit. Lauchlan couldn’t help but find the mannerism a little amusing.

 

They set to work somewhat grudgingly, as the fire was only just starting to warm them. Corbin picking out one of the bales and arduously hauling it toward the closest row of stalls, grunting and complaining all the while, and Lauchlan went to fetch the necessary tools for the task, namely a shovel, pitchfork and wheelbarrow.

 

“Can’t we just hitch a horse to one of these and have them do the heavy lifting?” he groaned, as they came to meet outside the first stall of many.

 

“As hungry as they are, they’d never move an inch from the hay as soon as you hitched them,” tutted Lauchlan. Corbin seemed to ask a disproportionate number of obvious questions first thing in the morning.

 

Corbin harrumphed tiredly and set to work sawing at the bailing twine while Lauchlan let himself into the stall to muck it out. His charges excitedly jostled around him, their ears pricked in Corbin’s direction, craning their necks for the hay.

 

Corbin had become a popular man it seemed, and they didn’t pay Lauchlan much mind as he cleared away the worst of the muck. Instead they snorted and huffed and pawed at the sawdust, nosing at Corbin and chomping their teeth as he filled up their trough one forkful of hay at a time. Lauchlan didn’t blame the creatures, though it would be nice if they paid him a little more heed as he cleaned around them and scooped the worst of the backwash from their water bucket. They were usually much more aware him than this.

 

The next stall of horses acted much the same, snubbing him in favour of Corbin as he grumbled and haphazardly pitched their hay over the stable wall. They must have famished after their missed meal and he could hardly blame them for that, but it did smart a little none the less. A little normalcy after the upheaval of last night would have been a balm to his system, but he’d get over it, he was sure. After all, the upheaval wouldn’t be finished until the storm was, and that could be some time yet.

 

“Do they really expect you to do all of this by yourself?” Corbin asked he pitched the last strands of the bale into the third stall.

 

“No, I had hired on some of the stable boys to join me but they couldn’t make it,” said Lauchlan, he’d have been bitter about it, before, but now it was a huge relief. He didn’t know what he’d have done had he had an audience last night, or what they may have done to him if Corbin had pushed the issue anyway.

 

“What do you mean they couldn’t make it? It’s a job not a picnic,” grumbled Corbin, hoisting the pitch fork over his shoulder as Lauchlan let himself out of the stall, and they both headed back to the pile of hay bales they had assembled.

 

“I guess they must have been needed at home,” said Lauchlan with a shrug. To be honest, he hadn’t been entirely surprised when the boys didn’t show. He’d payed them a days wage in advance as incentive, but only because without that much he’d had no volunteers at all. He was unpopular enough without ordering them to work under conditions like this. Their families must have been bracing for impact, with far fewer resources than he, and probably a much greater need for their son’s aid.

 

“Did you order them, or did they step forward?” asked Corbin, his eyes narrowing.

 

“They came forward. I wouldn’t order a person to work under conditions like this, not when their families might need them at home,” said Lauchlan, warily eyeing Corbin’s terse expression. He had the feeling that this conversation couldn’t lead anywhere pleasant.

 

Corbin was silent for a minute, they hoisted up another bale, each holding up one and as they dragged it back to the next pair of hungry drafts. Corbin rested a minute after they set it down, propping his body up on the handle of the pitchfork, and draping his arms about haphazardly.

 

“You paid them in advanced didn’t you?” his tone was mild but his eyes were full of accusation. Lauchlan bristled, and he unconsciously squared his shoulders and straightened his back, bringing himself to his full height and breadth. Intimidating as his size could be Corbin appeared wholly unaffected, and returned the gaze with equal fortitude.

 

“Of course I offered a payment down, to do anything otherwise would be unreasonable and unfair to the workforce. They have to get their families ready for the storm just as I did the stables, and they needed time and currency to do so, obviously they needed more time than the weather allowed,” said Lauchlan, trying to put on his most authoritarian tone, the sort he tried about the workplace. It failed, as always, withering into a mutter under Corbin’s cock eye-browed stare. He maintained his posture though, he was proud of his position, though often times he felt it was too good for him.

 

Though he tried to hide the insecure roots such feelings stemmed from, Corbin could read him as easily as the Sunday headlines. Corbin groaned, pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead and shook it tiredly. He rocked back to his feet and dropped the pitchfork down, resting it against the side of the bale.

 

“They’re using you. I don’t even know who the hell they are and I can tell you that much,” spat Corbin, his cheeks had heated and he punctuated his words with short sharp jabs of his pointer and middle fingers into his opposite palm. He shook his head angrily and turned on his heel to work at the twine again.

 

Lauchlan spluttered as Corbin’s back turned to him, the heat of indignation colouring his cheeks. They were children for heaven sake, he was not used by them, he was their leader. They could be capricious and insubordinate yes, but such was the way of children everywhere. There was no great conspiracy, no malicious abuse of his good faith and frankly he resented the implication otherwise, fuming at Corbin’s turned back.

 

He pivoted on his heel before he said something that Corbin would be bound to make him regret, and angrily shovelled out the stall. The horses gave him as wide a berth as they could manage in the small space, their flanks pressed to wooden partition, their heads raised warily. Horses were like that, they could sense anger and ill intention. But to have it directed at him was new, and it rankled even further. He finished the task quickly, swinging the shovel down with far more force than was necessary and stormed out, shutting the stall after him with a loud crack of the latch.

 

“They’re going to be given the sack, I take it?” Corbin barked, his arms held commandingly behind his back, his chest swelled like an angry cock, and his head held high, proudly, so much so that Lauchlan could swear that his dark, narrowed eyes were looking down at him, despite the fact that Corbin was a full foot shorter in stature.

 

“They’ll be made to work off the advance pay before they are returned to their regular wage. Don’t worry about that,” snapped Lauchlan, his voice dipping low into a mutter. He felt his anger simmer down to a shadow of itself under Corbin’s glaring offensive. It was one thing to be angry at a turned back, it was another to be faced with the man himself, and remember just what he could be capable of.

 

It didn’t help that the statement wasn’t a whole truth. He’d try to dock them pay, certainly, but the boys were sly like nobodies business and they behaved like a pack of wolves. Once he had tried to dock a boys pay after he caught him sleeping the day away in a free stall, but when pay day came all of the boys came dressed in the delinquents clothing, or at least garments very similar to them, each of them claiming to be the delinquent himself. As smeared with dirt and soot as their faces were, and as poor a people person as Lauchlan was, he could scarcely tell the half of them apart from each other, and probably ended up paying the delinquent in the confusion, and denying some other boy his pay. There was still one day’s less pay handed out, but split between all of them that was inconsequential, and probably more than worth the mutinous glee they got from confusing him so. If the trick had worked once, he had no doubt they’d try it again, and with ten children in the picture it wouldn’t get any easier.

 

“Not good enough, sack them. You do have the authority to do that don’t you?” Corbin barked in reply, and somehow he was right up against Lauchlan chest without him ever noticing him move. He glowered, daring him to change the subject and see what he’d say to that.

 

“I do, but I’m not going to. That wouldn’t be fair,” hissed Lauchlan. He felt like a tea kettle ready to boil. He didn’t want to lose his temper, he hardly realized he had one to begin with, but heaven knew what it would do if it made itself apparent now. This was his work, his lifeblood. He’d always been protective of his bread and butter, but he doubted he’d ever get anything better than what he’d been given with B&B, and to risk that over such a petty, inconsequential thing, risking everything he’d worked so hard to earn, would be foolish. He was too houseproud, too content in his state of affairs to risk uprooting everything and starting over again.

 

“Fair? You think it’s fair to be paid to sit on your arse and leave this lot here to suffer?” he gestured widely, waving a broad circle around the rows of stalls. He seemed genuinely surprised by Lauchlan’s rebuttal, rocking back on his heels to gaze up at him cock eyed, his head titling a little to one side in puzzlement.

 

“It isn’t fair to lose your livelihood over a single act of foolishness, an act of _childishness_ , when they _are_ children. You can’t expect them to be anything else. They did something stupid yes, but they’ll be docked pay, and that’s good enough for me,” Lauchlan retorted, proudly managing to avoid stuttering for a few brief sentences, which was a victory of it’s own with tensions as high as they were. He sidestepped away from Corbin, taking his wheelbarrow and shovel with him as he made his way to the next stall along.

 

“What about this lot? Is this good enough for them too?” again Corbin threw up his hands in emphasis, waving at the horses across the way from the both of them. They were craning their necks and begging for their morning feed with silent, hungry stares.

 

Lauchlan looked at them, their plaintive eyes soft and patient, and he looked away, only to notice with a jolt that this was Camilla’s stall. She was staring down at him with her soft milky eyes, that used to be such a lovely amber, and Lauchlan felt his anger crumble. She was filthy, her lovely wispy feathering and flaxen tail tangled into knots of sawdust and straw, her hooves caked in her own excrement, her food trough bare, her water speckled with more than a little grime and who knows what else. She was too old to be treated like this, not when she could be sold for glue and hide in as little as a month, a week. She should be cleaned, and loved and cared for, or at the very least made comfortable for what time she had left.

 

It wasn’t good enough at all.

 

“Let’s just, just get them their feed alright? We’re wasting time here arguing about this when we could be working, otherwise they mightn’t be fed till it’s past noon,” Lauchlan murmured.

 

Corbin sighed audibly, and nodded in assent. They worked on in relative silence. Though, Lauchlan could almost feel Corbin’s disapproval boiling away behind his dark, narrowed eyes. A deep crease seemed to fix itself between his eyebrows and he could hear him mutter unintelligibly when his back was turned. He took a moment to stroke Camilla’s withers, he knew she liked that, and work a few of the knots out of her mane with his fingers, before muttering another small apology before moving on to give the rest of the animals the same treatment.

 

He knew Corbin was right. It wasn’t fair to for the boys to skip out whenever they wanted, not to him, and more importantly it wasn’t fair to the horses, without whom they would all be out of work and on the streets again. They weren’t machines that could be shut down and set aside whenever it was convenient. They were living, breathing creatures, who were in no position to care for themselves, and for all their labour they deserved more than what they were granted.

 

It was probably a little backward to think that way, but after all this time he’d grown used to the children’s shenanigans. They could be quite amusing when he wasn’t the sole target of their trouble making. Besides, he wanted the children to grow to respect him, to trust in his judgment. You couldn’t earn trust through such harshness. He remembered the days of his childhood vividly, and at that time he’d wanted nothing more than a little compassion and patience from those above him, and he was determined to be the one to give that now he had been given a position of power. He owed that to them, and to himself, for being given this opportunity in the first place.

 

He stewed on his thoughts over the next few hours as he and Corbin worked. Corbin seemed to respect his silence, which was a relief, and eased up on his glowering. The work was much easier with another set of hands, and over the course of the day they managed to have each stall mucked, the troughs filled twice over, the water buckets washed and filled with fresh water, the corridors swept and the horses’ hooves tended to, though Corbin needed more than a little instruction on that front. They broke only for a short lunch of bread, cheese and smoked meats, which was eaten on the move. As the chill of nightfall took it’s hold, Lauchlan scraped out the old porridge into the trough of a yearling Clydesdale, who he knew could gorge himself on anything and everything with the enthusiasm of a pig and be none the worse off for it, while Corbin left to snuff out the lights.

 

Having done what few chores could be managed between the two of them, they banked the fire high for an evening meal. To Lauchlan’s surprise, Corbin took out the utensils and started cooking without Lauchlan saying a thing about it. He skinned and chopped up the old pumpkin, a few of the potatoes and tossed them along with some of the reconstituted milk into the billy, mashed it about with the stirring rod, and fussed with it as it boiled. It wasn’t exactly a soup, it was thicker than that, and full of soft wedges of improperly mashed potato that swam through the pumpkin.  He served it up with curling crusts of bread almost blackened by toasting sticking up out of the mash. The seeds were set aside to roast for tomorrows breakfast. It smelled lovely, and Lauchlan felt his stomach growl with approval. It was much better fair than what Lauchlan had been preparing for himself prior to Corbin’s arrival, and the two of them sat down to eat together almost as if they had been accustomed to doing so for years.

 

Somewhere along the line, the silence had become a comfortable one. Corbin had stopped his muttering, and lost the venom from his gaze. They were sitting together, much like they had last night with their porridge, knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, or at least to shoulder to upper arm, Corbin being as short as he was. It was overly familiar, and entirely inappropriate had they any company, but with the chill in the air, and the warmth of Corbin’s body radiating against his side, he couldn’t much care. It was too great a comfort, too lovely a sensation, to touch and to be touched in return. It brought a contentment he had almost forgotten after being so long alone, when Ida had said her farewells. He’d miss this contentment when Corbin took his dues, and some small part of him despaired that he’d never find anyone willing to offer it again. It was a sad, aching feeling, but he’d grown used to it and knew to ignore it. There could be no knowing such things, if it was to be, it would be. Otherwise, he’d just enjoy what he was given and be thankful that the powers upstairs saw fit to grant him that much.

 

“Well, is it good enough?” Corbin asked, quite unexpectedly between mouthfuls of black edged toast.

 

“What? Why yes, yes of course! You’re a far better cook than...”

 

“No I mean the urchins you hired,” Corbin said, quickly undercutting his flattery with an exasperated roll of his eyes. He swallowed, licking the crumbs from his lips, and pulled his mouth into a disarming half smile. It was a little eerie, and part of Lauchlan preferred the fuming and glowering that seemed so characteristic of Corbin.

 

“No, no you’re right. It’s just, they’re only children. They don’t do things out of malice, or laziness or spite. They’re _children._ Besides, a lot of them don’t have anywhere else to go. They can’t go to school, or get apprenticed or start a business of their own. Manual work is all they know, all they have to keep their heads above water. I, I can’t just throw them out onto the streets just because they’re acting like the children they are. I could never. How could I cope knowing that I’d sent a child to the workshops? T-to the grave even!” the words tumbled out of their own doing, and Lauchlan could tell he wasn’t making much in the way of sense, but that didn’t really matter. His feelings on the matter were a little nonsensical in and of themselves.

 

Perhaps his compassion for their plight was unappreciated, but what did that matter? When he had needed bread on his plate and a roof over his head, this place had offered it too him. He would be indentured to that kindness forever, and he couldn’t bring himself to cast out anyone else from its protection, even if it may have seemed warranted. It just wouldn’t have sat right.

 

Corbin sighed wearily, rubbing his forehead with one hand, and squeezing a wedge of toast with the other, clenching it more and more tightly until it crumbled into flaky chunks. He dropped both to his lap, his eyes half lidded and his lips moving in silent curses of frustration for a brief moment, before his exasperated gaze snapped up again, his dark eyes piercing and heavy with meaning.

 

“By taking in some other kid that will actually work for his living. The kids had their chances and squandered them on sweets and rum, knowing the sort of urchins these places usually hire. Just don’t think of it as turning the kid out. You’ll be taking someone else in. Someone who’ll hopefully be grateful enough to actually work for his pay. I don’t know what sort of children you speak so fondly of, but I know children and these children are nothing but are urchins and self serving rats. They’re selfish and cruel and you’ve gone and shown them all your back. Now they’re walking all over you and they’re going to keep walking all over you until you push them into line. They’re not going to stop just because you’re nice to them. They can abuse nice, they can squander nice, and they can and they will twist nice until it services whatever they’re after. You’re their master, not their friend. You need to act like it or they’ll be using you forever,” he snapped, pointing and gesturing with the crumbling toast, his shoulders drawn tight and his toes tapping and fidgeting with an impassioned energy.

 

Lauchlan wasn’t sure what to make of it, Corbin’s tirade had an honest point, but many of his words rang too true for comfort. Corbin didn’t know what the boys here were like, he’d never even met them! He had no right to pass such judgment, but that didn’t make him wrong either. He’d had trouble with the boys long before he took the position, and though he tried to be patient and fair, it never really changed, even as the boys did. It wouldn’t be entirely unwise to try to change his own behaviour, rather than to expect the boys to suddenly perform a turnabout after all these years. But that didn’t mean he would, didn’t mean he could for that matter. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t make himself become something that he just didn’t have in him, he’d tried for years to stop himself from stuttering, startling at the slightest provocation and babbling like the fool he was, and he hadn’t gotten anywhere. How would he ever convince the boys that he could be strict? That he could be harsh? They would know he was only pretending, he was sure of it. There was hardly any point in trying.

 

“You don’t even know them,” Lauchlan muttered, lost to his thoughts. He stirred his soup idly, enjoying its warmth and becoming entranced by the shades of creamy oranges swirling through it.

 

“I know enough, Lauchlan. People are alike, know one and you know all there is to know of the rest cut of his cloth,” said Corbin with a small shrug of his shoulders.

 

Lauchlan had to agree to that, at least a little. Sometimes he could swear that they could think in concert, what with the pranks they often pulled, the way they could part like the red sea when he walked through the floor, and spread nasty rumours for days or even weeks without him catching a single one with his mouth running. Still, he was loathe to support such a sweeping statement, and held his tongue.

 

Corbin saw it for the victory it was, or at least had the kindness to let the subject go, and continued enjoying his warm soup, an example Lauchlan was happy to follow. The heavy silence persisted however, and the warmth of him against his side was a little less comforting than it was before, leaving him to worry quietly about the boys and what he could possibly do about them.

 

When they’d both scraped their bowls and the billy clean with bread, wasting absolutely nothing, then cleaned them properly with a little melted snow and a used and abused rag.

 

It was to awkward, and too exposed for either to wash themselves however, as their only water container was far too small, and would take too long to heat, but he soaked a hanky in the sudsy warm water to use for a little spot cleaning after he found privacy. It was uncomfortable, but would simply have to be lived with.

 

Corbin stayed by the fireside to change, while Lauchlan climbed to the hayloft on his own. It was too cold to wear his normal sleep clothes, so he bundled himself in old, loose shirts and thick woollen trousers, dabbing himself clean with the hanky in the most important places, though the air was so chilly that he could scarcely last a moment before succumbing to violent shivers, and hastily covering himself up in clean undergarments once again. He laid his old clothes out on the hay to air, they’d be frosty come morning, but the musty scent of sex and sweat still clung to them, and he wanted it gone.

 

He wondered what Corbin would want, tonight. He hadn’t seemed interested in the other part, at least not yet, but would he take issue with sleeping side by side again? The makeshift bed was hardly large enough for the two of them to avoid each other. He hadn’t thought to fetch new blankets, and there weren’t enough here to divide into two adequate sets, so there wasn’t exactly much choice. Still, it seemed, odd to sleep together without actually _sleeping_ together. It was rather intimate and a little too familiar, and more than a little daunting in light of their arguments.

 

He clambered down into the soft bed of lucerne hay, and turned back the blankets and quilt, fluffing up the lumpy pillows as best he could. He could hear Corbin’s crunching foot steps, and see the flickering lantern light before he saw the man himself, and he fidgeted in earnest.

 

“I can set you up a bed of your own if you’d like,” he called out as Corbin’s shadow passed over him.

 

He set the lantern down atop a nearby hay bale next to Lauchlan’s own, and snuffed out the flames, casting them both in darkness.

 

“No, it’s not worth the fuss,” he said, yawning and stretching his back out.

 

He hopped down gracelessly, wobbling unsteadily for a moment before giving up and dropping to his knees, and teetering sideways to sprawl out on his backside. He’d changed out of the soiled pullover, thank goodness, and was wearing a moth eaten cable knit that was much, much too large, even with several other layers beneath it. He squirmed beneath the covers in a tangle of limbs and noisy exhales and made himself comfortable, tucking in the linens beneath his side and tucking his legs up against his body, clutching the blankets so tightly that he resembled a swaddled infant. Lauchlan smiled at the sight, and slid in beside him, a little more trepidatiously he had the night before, but eager to claim a share of the blankets before Corbin chose to mummify himself completely. Corbin had his back to him again, and the nape of his neck called to be nuzzled despite everything. He didn’t dare, though and settled on his right side, their shoulders pressed against one another. It wasn’t the same, but the solid weight of his back shifting gently against him and the warmth of his body was as comforting as he remembered it to be. They both fidgeted a little, the swell of Corbin’s behind pressing against the small of his back, his legs brought up so that his feet pressed into the hollows of his knees. Lauchlan gathered up what was left of his side of the blankets and pulled them tightly to his chest, forming a tight, warm cocoon around the two of them.

 

He could grow too used to this. He’d thought it before, if only in jest, but he knew he meant it now. That same irrepressible, glowing warmth resettled in his chest, and was lulling him into sleep like a siren.

 

 He wasn’t sure if it was wise, given the circumstances but when he puzzled over it, he realized that in the comfortable folds of half-sleep it was not so foreign a feeling as he had thought it to be when he had been halfway to waking. When he had been a little boy, scarcely a child at all, he’d had to sleep in his mothers bed, his shoulders tucked beneath her arm to stop him from rolling out and his head resting upon her breast, so she could have the use of their single thin pillow. Nobody had thought anything of that, and neither had he. It was simply what they did, as they hadn’t the room or money for a second bed. Was this really so different? So wrong? They were just sharing a space, sharing their heat in the chill of winter. If he found pleasure in it, well, was that really so different to the time he spent tucked beneath his mothers arm? He didn’t think so, and he found it no longer worried him as it had. It was warm, safe and comforting, and he gorged upon the feeling while he could. He would get used to this, given the chance, and he would miss it fiercely when it was gone.

 

It was the best night’s sleep he’d had in a long time, visited by pleasant dreams he could not remember, but left a smile upon his lips none the less.

 

Morning came again, all too soon, and though Lauchlan clung to sleep as fervently as he was able, it was useless. Corbin’s mass against his back his sole comfort as he was dragged unwillingly into the waking world. This morning, however, stood apart from those that had come before. Aside from the warm body at his back, of course.

 

The air had lost much of it’s bite, it was still cold, but the cold was no longer the snapping, howling chill of wind and blizzard, but the dull, consistent, dreary cold of an unremarkable winters day. The winds were silent, and he could hear the sound of snow and sleet slowly trickling down from the rooftop, a quiet, constant grinding sort of sound, like coarse flour being forced though a sieve.

 

He rose to his knees as quietly as he could, and felt Corbin slouch behind him. He rolled onto his back without Lauchlan’s shoulders to support him, as compliant as a rag doll in his sleep. He felt the warmth envelop him again at the sight, and tucked the blankets around him again before he arose to dress. Lighting the lantern and dressing himself in fresher garments. Yesterday’s clothes smelled a little better than they had before, and he folded and packed them away with the rest in good conscious, apart from his greatcoat that he felt comfortable enough to wear.

 

He went round to the lift, and filled it with a load of hay, but decided against lowering it down. The squealing of the brake would undoubtedly wake Corbin up and get the horses excited for breakfast, and he felt it would be a while yet before they were fed. Instead he went down to the brazier again, arranged the tinder and coals, lit the new days fire, and saw about lighting the gas lamps again, his foot falls soft enough not to wake any of the beasts that were still resting. The floor was cooler than the hayloft, but much warmer than it had been yesterday. His breath no longer fogged the air, and the chill of the flagstone clad ground wasn’t tenacious enough to bite through his boots. 

 

After that he settle once again, setting the kettle to boil and measuring out what he’d need for a billy full of porridge for their breakfast, leaving the powdered milk aside for Corbin to manage and popped the pumpkin seeds into a tin dish, and over the coals to roast. He thought to pour out Corbin a cup of tea, and bring it up to bribe him into wakefulness, only to realize that he hadn’t thought to ask how the man took his. Instead he settled for steeping it until he came down, leaving enough room for whatever he felt the need to add.

 

He needn’t had worried though, as Corbin came stumbling down to the fireside a few minutes later, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hand and scrubbing the other furiously through his hair in a misguided attempt to get it out of his face, as it sprung back with greater determination the more he struggled with it. The kettle greeted him with its cheery whistle, jolting him awake, and Lauchlan took it up, poured it out, and set the tea aside to brew. Corbin hadn’t dressed himself properly yet, still wearing the holey cable knit and rolled up trousers of last night, it looked almost childish in the firelight, like a little brother in third time hand me downs.

 

Lauchlan offered a polite “good morning” and Corbin responded only with a bleary scoff, still scrubbing sleep from his eyes as he flopped down onto one of the crates. He handed him the tea, and the billy, and Corbin obligingly measured out the powdered milk and appropriate amount of water for him, shoving it back into his arms to delve into his morning cuppa.

 

Lauchlan thanked him, and turned to set the billy over the coals, stirring it as he sipped his own tea. He doubted he’d be able to ever eat porridge again without first thinking of Corbin, as soon as the smell of it reached him pleasant memories of their embrace swam into consciousness, unclear but none the less pleasant and bracing, bringing warmth to his cheeks and a pleasant throb to the centre of his chest. He could hear a rustle of clothing behind him, and the sound of stumbling and muttered expletives made clear the cause. From the sound of it, Corbin must have been changing his clothes. He stumbled about, hopping on one leg for a moment before stumbling back onto two, then perching on the edge of a creaking crate to pull on his boots. Lauchlan had the decency to keep his eye glued to the porridge while the man dressed, but the imagery his clattering conjured up was amusing none the less, and he found himself chuckling whenever Corbin lost his footing and muttered especially furiously.

 

Corbin had fallen silent by the time the porridge was cooked, so he felt it was safe to assume that he’d finished dressing. He stirred in the toasted seeds, dolled it out into two bowls and handed one over to Corbin, and the two of them ate quickly, digging into the sweet porridge while it was still hot. Lauchlan would have thought it pointless to daydream when the object of such dreaming was beside him, but Lauchlan’s senses seemed not to grasp that logic, and bombarded him with carnal memories of touch and taste with every mouthful. Pleasant they may have been this was neither the time nor place, and the stirring of Lauchlan’s loins was growing to the point of distraction.

 

He scarfed what was left of his meal as quickly as he could, and excused himself to make his ablutions before Corbin could finish. The last thing he wanted was to compromise his dignity again, it had taken enough injury these past few days to last him a lifetime. He passed down the stall corridor, petting bleary awakening horses as he went. The refuse stall was beginning to smell well and truly terrible the closer he got to it, and he covered his nostrils and mouth in disgust. It seemed that the wind had changed all together, and without the coating of hoarfrost the draft had provided the waste was beginning to decompose.

 

Curious, he fished out his keys and unlocked the door, bracing himself for the winters chill as he cracked it open, and was rather underwhelmed by the crisp, cool air of the outside world.

 

The seaborn wind had died overnight, and a southern breeze had taken its place. It was barely strong enough to shake the empty trees, but it brought a steadfast warmth with it. It was not a true thaw, as it was still around the freezing temperatures, but the storm’s snow was so fine and powdery that without the freezing wind to keep it crisp and whole, it crumpled and melted into a dense icy slush, the weight of which enough to crush the bank below, until it had all condensed into a few feet of muddy sleet and treacherous ice. The clouds had not yet parted, instead they swirled and drifted indecisively in the new wind, letting sunshine soldier through in thin patches. He could hear people blustering about across the way, making the best of the relatively clear weather to clean the ice and snow from their rooftops and dig their doors free. It would take a day or two to have all of the roads back into a traversable state, provided the snow didn’t start up again, but it did seem that the worst of the storm had passed over.

 

It was well ahead of the predicted time, and Lauchlan would be glad to have a proper bath and a freshly laundered suit of clothes.

 

He shut the door again, locked it tight, and tended to himself with his nostrils pinched shut. It was good that the worst was over, but some part of him felt a little cheated. He had just managed to find a little peace, both with himself and with Corbin, and now he’d again be resigned to uncertainty and waiting. Never knowing when and where he’d turn up to collect, though after these past few days he doubted he’d be truly surprised ever again. He’d just have to take it one day at a time and try not to worry himself. After all, he’d handled the largest part of the bargain, the other part couldn’t be nearly as daunting in comparison. Though it was quite intimidating in it’s own way, he’d hadn’t needed to do much of anything when Corbin had had his way, just laying down and doing as Corbin had told him, but the other part required him to be a little more proactive. Well, that was an understatement, it would require him to do an awful lot more, and he wasn’t entirely sure of the specifics. Though, now he felt he knew better than to be too fearful. Corbin had been good to him, he’d asked when he could have easily taken, and he was grateful for that. Though, he still wished it could have been dealt with sooner, while his nerves were bolstered, as he suspected it would be if the storm had run it’s full course. No matter though, it would happen when it happened, no sooner than that.

 

He traipsed back to the fire, finding Corbin cleaning up their dishes and sipping at a second cup of tea. He glanced up as Lauchlan approached, and pulled a face, his nose wrinkled in distaste and his lip curling a little, though he did not comment on what he must have smelled of. Instead he gestured pointedly to a spare rag, and went back to his work.

 

“It seems like the worst of the storm has past us by,” said Lauchlan, going out of his way to inject cheer into his tone. It would be a good thing, in the long run. The horses were aching for exercise and the stalls needed to be completely cleaned out, the sawdust replaced, the troughs scrubbed, and the horses themselves washed, dried and brushed clean. That just couldn’t be done with only two men and no means of access to the outside world.

 

“I thought it was supposed to last a week yet,” huffed Corbin, slapping the dish angrily with the rag. Lauchlan could almost feel the disappointment radiating off of him, and found himself laughing mirthfully to spite himself.

 

“You can take that up with the man upstairs. I had nothing to do with it,” chuckled Lauchlan.

 

Corbin stared at him for a moment, surprised by his good cheer, then grumbled unintelligibly and rolled his eyes, hiding his mutterings behind his tea.

 

Lauchlan found that he could sympathise, at least a little, he had gone to so much trouble just to get here after all, and it would all be over with within a day or two, or however long it took to clear up the major roads and drag the cabbies back to work. But still, Corbin’s frustration with the weather of all things, good weather at that, seemed more than a little silly.

 

“Yes, well, sometimes things do turn out better than you’d expect, no matter how often things go the other way. Tit for tat, and such. But at any rate it’s for the best. I rather... I mean that, it’s been hard enough handling this on my own, even with your help. They’ll be better off with the extra hands,” he injected conversationally, gesturing to the horses around them and scratching at the nape of his neck.

 

Corbin scowled, and fixed Lauchlan with a particularly withering look. He finished his share of the dishes with a sharp twist of the rag, and set them aside, springing to his feet and rolling his shoulders.

 

“You’ll take my advice?” he asked, frowning sternly with his arms crossed against his chest.

 

Lauchlan looked up at him a moment, his mind drawing a blank, but he soon remembered their arguments about the boys, and hastily rose himself to be on equal footing.

 

“I know, I know you have a point, don’t get me wrong, and I’ve taken it to heart, but I have to talk to them first. It’s just... it just wouldn’t be fair to pull the rug from under them so suddenly, especially in the winter time,” blustered Lauchlan, making feeble appeasing gestures with his hands, and averting his eye away. He knew Corbin was right, at least in part, but that didn’t mean he could just do a heel face turn and make everything better. He needed to test the waters, test his luck, and more importantly, he needed to see how far the boys would go when he did it. The last thing he wanted was for things to get messy.

 

Corbin huffed, and stared him down for a moment before he let it drop, accepting the compromise for what it was. His eyes softened, and he brought up a hand to rub tiredly at his brow.

 

“We’ll have to take the left over supplies home too, there’s little point in letting it all go to waste. Feel free to help yourself to whatever you want from it all once you head home,” said Lauchlan, in an attempt to make amends. There was far too much food left over for him alone to take home, too much to carry and too little of it he actually liked. The rest would probably end up being wasted, fed to the horses, or given to a catholic soup kitchen he knew.

 

“What, you trying to get rid of me now?” sneered Corbin, jovially cocking an eyebrow and smirking off his ire.

 

“Oh no of course not! The snowdrifts look rather treacherous at the moment. The roads will probably be cleared up in the next day or two, baring any intervention, so you’d be best off waiting ‘till then,” he interjected quickly. The last thing he wanted was for Corbin to risk life and limb on his account _again_ when it was still perfectly feasible for the storm to pick up again before the day was done.

 

“Alright, alright, point taken. Same song and dance as yesterday then?” asked Corbin, and it took Lauchlan a moment to gather his meaning.

 

“I’ll take the upstairs end today,” he said, as soon as he caught on.

 

“Suit yourself then,” said Corbin, waving a hand airily. No doubt he was secretly happy that he would be allowed the easier end of the task today, but Lauchlan was content enough to let him think he couldn’t tell.

 

After all, the man had been patient enough with him these past few days. Helping him through his insecurities and forcing him to face yet more. He’d never let it be said that he was ungrateful. It was only fair that he should return the favour to Corbin, and if it meant another night of his company, well, he thought he could live with that. In fact, he’d do it quite gladly, if it meant another night with his solid, comforting warmth at his back.

 

He could certainly think of worse fates than that, and who knew? Perhaps the next time they’d have an actual bed at their disposal.

 


	7. Talk Is Cheap

Their last day passed quickly. He and Corbin rose, ate, and tended to the morning chores. Lauchlan listened to Corbin with only one ear as he complained half-heartedly about the mediocrity of it all.  
  
Once the morning feed had been dolled out and the stalls mucked, he and Corbin unlocked the little workman’s door and popped their heads out to survey the conditions anew. The looming, pregnant clouds had moved on, allowing a sparkling winter sky to splash across the heavens. The sun shone down and reflected up from the icy ground so brightly it hurt to look at and the breeze nipped lazily at their cheeks.  
  
The people unburdened by horse care were well into the arduous task of freeing the roads from the snowdrifts. Men were at work shovelling the roads free, piling the snow high on the footpaths. More still followed behind with horses and traps, shovelling it haphazardly into the carts so it could be hauled away. Most was dumped into the river, it was beginning to flow again with the high tide, albeit rather sluggishly. Their womenfolk and children followed behind them to spread buckets full of hot ash upon the cobbles to burn away the remaining ice. Fires burned in rudimentary braziers on every street corner, little islands of warmth where people would stop to warm their hands and brush the snow from their clothes before they returned to work. Industrious folk had claimed many of the braziers, or set up ones of their own, and were selling baked potatoes, roasted chestnuts and mugs of soup to passers by. The smell was enveloping and warm, the breeze carrying it across the frozen streets and calling shivering people in like flies to honey.  
  
With the storm well and truly passed, Lauchlan opened the shutters and doors, letting a weeks worth of stale air out into the world and the bracing winter breeze in. It was a poor bargain, but there were no other offers to be had. The two of them worked to shovel a path around the perimeter of the stable, each picking one side of the main door to start at and meeting each other again on the opposite side of the building, the both of them tired and damp from snow melt and sweat alike. Once they’d freed the perimeter, they doubled back to the sturdiest, west-facing wall and shovelled the incinerator oven free.  
  
It was a new addition to the structure, a hulking red brick dome that had been bolted onto the older sandstone with so little attention to aesthetics that it stuck out like a sore thumb. The wall itself was heavily clad with panels of asbestos cement, the dove grey contrasting against the mottled yellow of the wall behind. The round smoke stack stabbed up into the air, too short to match the older, disused chimneys of the stables factory days, but much taller than the chimneys of the workman’s houses, round and squat rather than the customary square. The main chamber vaguely resembled a bread oven, cauldron-like in shape with a great cast iron hatch at its front, large enough to admit a small pony, grates for air circulation and slots for bellows peppered about it’s girth at ankle height. The two of them loaded it with wood, coal and a few gallons of paraffin oil to compensate for the dampness of the fuel, and tossed a live ember from the cook fire into the heart of it. It roared into life with a great whoosh of air, strong enough to toss his lapels about and brush Corbin’s hair from his face. The two of them took turns working at the bellows Corbin huffing and grumbling, and Lauchlan laughing silently at the other man’s determination to dislike the task, despite the warmth it offered. After a half hour the fire became so hot it was almost unbearable to stand by the bricks, the snow was melting and pooling around them, steaming when it brushed against the red hot exhausts. It was as hot as the two of them could get it. Then they began the truly despicable part of the job, carting out a weeks worth of accumulated refuse and shovelling it into the hungry. The smell of the refuse itself was normally quite bad, but the smell of the smoke was something else entirely, even with a handkerchief securely tied over his mouth and nose it made him cough and gag. Corbin complained little, if only because he was unwilling to risk opening his mouth.  
  
The work took the better part of the morning, but it was well worth it in the end. The stables smelt relatively clean again, apart from the omnipresent scent of horse, and felt toasty warm thanks to the ferocious blaze, even with the asbestos cladding keeping the brunt of it at bay.  
  
Lauchlan collapsed down on the step without hesitation, his shoulders aching something fierce and his back creaking in protest with every motion. Corbin stood a little longer, rocking on his heels and rolling his shoulders. Lauchlan watched the planes of his chest shift and arch as he moved, and were he not so flushed from exertion he’d certainly be blushing, remembering how Corbin had looked as he’d loomed above him and how it had felt to be beneath him.  
  
Corbin dispelled the illusion for him, flopping down onto the step beside him in a disgraceful heap, limbs akimbo, shirt untucked and the pervasive smell of sweat and filth rolling off of him in waves. Lauchlan grimanced, but wasn’t smelling of roses himself so he was hardly going to go casting aspersions.    
  
Corbin panted, his sips parted and cheeks flushed, and propped himself up on his elbows.  
  
“Well that’s that then,” Corbin huffed.  
  
“That’s that” Lauchlan agreed. He cast his gaze out onto the street, watching the coming and going of the street sweepers and helpful everymen as they went about freeing the roads. They were making good progress from what he could see, the street they were situated on was more or less clear, and the brisk foot-traffic passing by seemed to suggest that the rest of the district was progressing just as well. If things were equally productive tomorrow there’d be no reason not to take up work again, and he’d expect the main body of the workforce to appear.  
  
He’d miss Corbin. He’d not expected to miss the man at all, but he would. His company was surprisingly enjoyable, their conversations intelligent, despite being so often laced with expletives. Lauchlan found that his presence felt oddly liberating. He could curse like a sailor if he wanted to, he could blaspheme or say rude things about people he couldn’t stand, and Corbin wouldn’t mind. He’d probably join right in, knowing him. Lauchlan was of no mind to actually do so, but the door was open to him, and it lightened his spirit.  
  
“We could be back in bed tonight,” said Lauchlan, wistfully gazing at the crisp blue of the cloudless sky.  
  
Corbin chortled beside him, and Lauchlan jolted, realising the meaning beneath what he’d said.  
  
“All I meant is that we could go back home, Corbin!  M-must you find such meaning in everything I say to you?” Lauchlan stuttered.  
  
Corbin only laughed all the more, his eyes crinkling at their corners and his shoulders trembling.  
  
“Only when you put them there, Lauchlan, only when you put them there,” chuckled Corbin, swallowing down his laughter and patting his knee in good-natured sympathy.  
  
Lauchlan found himself smiling despite himself, and rolled his eye. He had to admit that it was nice to see a smile on Corbin’s face instead of a scowl, be it at his expense or not. It was a pleasant, full faced smile, so encompassing that it was impossible to doubt its authenticity. He hoped that one day he’d see it directed at something other than his embarrassment so that he’d be able to better appreciate it.  
  
“Corbin, really, we ought to head home this evening,” said Lauchlan, sobering himself. He’d need to start sorting out their things out now, so that they could be home before nightfall. He’d hate to return to work stinking of filth as he did, and there was so much work to be done, he’d need a good bath and a good nights rest to bolster himself for it.  
  
Corbin hummed, and his expression slowly folded back into its usual masked state. He slouched, leaning back further on the step, propping himself up on his elbows.  
  
“I guess that’d be for the best,” Corbin admitted, though he seemed determined to be unhappy about it.  
  
Lauchlan stood, and set about sorting out his possessions. Some minutes later Corbin extracted himself from the step, dragged himself up to the hayloft and clomped back down to the fireside with a bundle of possessions in his arms. Lauchlan spied a familiar hip flask amongst them that brought heat to his cheeks, and below his belt. He packed his bags, a rather short task as only a few of his possessions had actually managed to leave them, and upon Lauchlan’s insistence he filled a crate full of foodstuffs to take with him.  
  
“I don’t see how you expect me to carry this rubbish about with me. Honestly Lauchlan, do I look like a pack mule?” he grouched, giving the crate an experimental heave. It wasn’t too heavy for him to lift, but it was far too cumbersome to carry for any distance. Corbin could barely span his arms wide enough to clasp the hemp handles on either end, and it was too wide to hold close to his chest. The posture had to be hell on his back.  
  
“Well if you can plough your way through a near blizzard and come out none the worse for wear, I’d say you’re about as stubborn as one,” Lauchlan laughed shyly, afraid of overstepping the mark.  
  
Corbin dropped the laden crate down and levelled a glare at him, his arms crossed huffily over his chest. He raised a hand, jabbing it at him with two fingers pointed.  
  
“There is a very clear distinction between mulish and diligent, and if that is lost on you then we have no business speaking,” Corbin said, waggling his fingers and pulling his face into a stern scowl, but there was a smile trembling in the corner of his lips that betrayed him.  
  
Lauchlan laughed all the more, and Corbin’s grin escaped its confines and bloomed across his face.  
  
“Alright, alright. Your diligence is noted. Just give me a few minutes to finish clearing up my things and then I’ll hitch up a horse and trap,” Lauchlan said, a smile still on his lips.  
  
“You’ll be joining me?” one of Corbin’s eyebrows shot up to accompany the question.  
  
“Of course. I can’t just let you traipse back to Coalford through so much ice and snow in good consciousness. You’re not a pack mule after all,” said Lauchlan, cheekily echoing Corbin’s sentiment back to him.  
  
Corbin huffed, crossing and recrossing his arms before giving up with an exasperated wave.  
  
“And now he’s giving me cheek. My God in heaven, what have I unleashed?” Corbin stage whispered. He gazed melodramatically up at the ceiling and clasped his hands.  
  
Lauchlan laughed, and felt his cheeks glow with embarrassment, amusement and endearment indecipherably jumbled together. He averted his eye and shyly retreated, hiding behind his packing as Corbin smirked and shook his head.  
  
It was a longer task than he’d expected, his things had sprawled about the barn over the past few days, and now it was time to put everything back he had to wrack his brain as to where everything had gone. His bedclothes were in the hayloft, his clothing irregularly scattered about here and there, some in the hayloft, some on the floor and some of the crates contents were his personal belongings, while the rest was the companies. It wasn’t too difficult to figure it out, but the constant legwork as he scarpered from one end of the barn to the other, as he remembered some things and forgot others, and the constant second-guessing of it all was time consuming. Corbin was perched on his crate waiting, silently rolling his eyes and shaking his head, which made Lauchlan blush and hurry even more.  
  
Lauchlan hated having to pack up after staying somewhere as much as he hated packing to go in the first place. No matter how thorough he was he could never shake the feeling that he’d forgotten something terribly important. After he’d recounted everything for the third time and found nothing lacking he shoved the feeling as far from his consciousness as he could muster and set his bulging suitcase down by the dwindling fire.  
  
“So that’s everything then?” Corbin asked, his tone cloying sweet and laced with sarcasm.  
  
“I should hope so,” Lauchlan sighed, resisting the urge to open it up and recount everything again, just to be sure.  
  
He fished out his keys and made one last round, closing the shutters, locking the doors and dousing the lights. After a little deliberation he picked out two mares he though would be best for the task, both mix-breeds, though he had a surer idea of their lineage than he did Camilla’s. They were both Clydesdale grades, they had the bay hide and lovely white stockings characteristic of the noble breed. They were too long legged and narrow across the chest to quite fit the breed standard, but they made for a fine pair and would do well in the snow. Their long legs gave them a high, strutting walk that would help them to negate the snowdrifts where they had yet to be cleared away.  
  
He gently looped lead ropes around their necks and pried them away from their hay, snorting and shaking their heads as they were drawn from their meal. He stroked their noses and muttered to them in soothing tones, promising them oats and corn in return for the untimely separation from their food. He squeezed them out of the side door and hitched them to a light fly carriage. It was built in the usual cradle shape, with two benches for passengers, both facing each other, and sides tall enough to reach the shoulders of the passengers in the compartment, protecting them from wind and rain. The compartment itself was covered with a simple tarpaulin roof that could be folded up or down to make the best of the weather. The wheels were widely set, sturdy and spring cushioned, making for a smooth, comfortable ride.  
  
He knew it was a little illogical, but hitching up a matching set of horses was always a pleasure to see. He knew that their hide was hardly indicative of their suitability, and that their height, weight and bearing was far more important when putting together a team, but there was something so charming about a matching pair that he’d go far out of his way to arrange whenever he could. It satisfied some need to create order and balance that was so often out of his reach, and that simple pleasure could sustain him for days.  
  
He patted their backs to show his gratitude and slipped a feedbag full of promised oats around their heads, which they crunched eagerly as he led them back to the doorstep where Corbin was waiting.  
  
“Isn’t that a bit extravagant?” asked Corbin, reproachfully eyeing the fly carriage and crossing his arms against his chest, his fingers twitching against his coat sleeves.  
  
Lauchlan started, and stared back at it wondering what on earth could be wrong. It was one of the simplest vehicles of the lot, apart from the lorries and produce wagons, and both such vehicles were too low to the street, and would be hell to drag through heavy snow. What on earth did extravagance matter, at any rate? He was only going to be giving the man a lift to the other end of town, not travelling cross country.  
  
“This is the best I can do,” Lauchlan muttered, giving a small helpless shrug of his shoulders.  
  
Corbin sighed and pinched his forehead, before waving him off and rocking to his feet. “Help me with this lot then,” he sighed, and headed inside to fetch the luggage.  
  
Lauchlan scrambled after him, mollified and newly nervous, and together they loaded up the carriage, strapping the crates to the outer luggage rack and pilling their personal luggage within the compartment. He folded out the foot iron and offered a hand to Corbin, who huffed and glowered indignantly.  
  
Lauchlan blushed, and after a moment retracted his hand, remembering the way he had fumed when he’d tried to direct him just two days ago.  
  
Corbin hummed approvingly, and laboriously clambered up into the compartment on his own, his short stature robbing the motion of any grace. He slouched down onto one of the benches, the leather cushioning squeaking as he settled himself upon it, and Lauchlan carefully folded the step away, latching the door shut for him.  
  
“Oh, Lauchlan, one more thing. You’re going to want this,” Corbin purred. He shuffled about a moment, and then leant out of the compartment, producing a familiar woollen scarf. Lauchlan took it, and glanced down at it confused. It was definitely his scarf, it was dyed a deep wine red colour that was quite unmistakable. He could have sworn he’d packed it with the rest of his things. He glanced up at Corbin, who was grinning lasciviously down at him.  
  
“I, well, thankyou for the sentiment but I prefer to turn up my collar in this sort of weather,” Lauchlan said. Corbin broke out into chuckles, and Lauchlan could only look up at him, bewildered by the reaction.  
  
“That’s not why you need it,” Corbin laughed, and retreated into the compartment.  
  
Lauchlan touched his neck self-consciously. It was rough with several days of accumulated stubble, but that was to be expected and he didn’t think it too unsightly. He cupped his hands and ran them up to his ears, his fingers brushing against the occasional sore spots where Corbin’s kisses had been a little too rough. He probed the spots gently, and a blush flooded his cheeks as he realised what Corbin had handed him scarf for. Bruises.  
  
Corbin’s laughter rang out anew, and Lauchlan fled to the drivers perch, winding the scarf around his neck as he went. He stuffed a tweed cap onto his head, hiding the worst of his unkempt hair and urged the horses into a walk, leading them out of the yard and into the city proper, pausing only to lock the gate behind them.  
  
The horses were eager for activity after so long kept indoors, and they strode foreword at a brisk pace, chomping at their oats with gusto. There were still many people out shovelling the streets, but they parted for him readily, and he tilted the bill of his cap politely in thanks.  
  
He remembered the way to Coalford readily enough, but the snow forced him to take a long and winding path, as only the wide, important roads had been completely cleared for traffic. The ride was pleasant though, the air crisp and clean and the roads oddly empty, quiet but for the clatter of his mare’s hoof beats, and chattering of the folk as they worked their houses free. The Faulkner’s bridge, when he eventually reached it, was still heavily laden with snow, the wrought iron arches strung with dripping icicles that twinkled in the afternoon light. The snow over the roads was crisp and unmarked by horse traffic as of yet, though footsteps had arduously made their way through it. The snow slowed the beasts, but they did not falter for long, lowering their heads and ploughing their way through one stride at a time, the wheels of the carriage slicing great rivets through the drift. The snow muted the sound of their shoes against the cobbles and replaced it with a crisp crunching, which was quite pleasant to the ear.  
  
The roads grew more unkempt the further into the district they travelled, the cobbles treacherously uneven and slippery beneath the cover of snow, forcing the horses to slow their pace even further lest they lose their footing.  
  
The terraced houses they passed were of increasingly ill repair, the bricks exposed, lacking paint or any other protection, the mortar crumbling and the rooftops sagging beneath the weight of snow. The boarded windows of old storefronts and workshops stood on every street corner, caked in years of accumulated grime that vagrants had scratched graffiti and thuggish propaganda into.  
  
It was hard to believe that Coalford had been prosperous once. Copper and iron ore used to be shipped into the city from up river, the finest to be had this side of the country, and the docks at Coalford would always have the first choice of the barges cargo, situated on a curve of the wide, sluggish river. Foundries would smelt them into ingots and those ingots would be sold on to an ever-growing number of smithies and craftsmen, who would turn them into goods sold citywide and beyond. It wasn’t a pleasant place to live, even back then, as the smoke from the forges was thick and smothering, the streets swallowed by clouds of soot and the clamour of hundreds of hammers upon anvils rung thought the air day in and day out, but if there was any need for metal work, Coalford had been the place to go.  
  
It was not to last though. One by one the mines were exhausted, the trade dwindling till there was nothing left worth exporting, and with that blow Coalford’s backbone had broken. The crumbling smoke stacks and saw-toothed rooftops of dilapidated factories loomed over the place, solemn reminders of better days. The only artefact of those times still in good repair was the dock, where the merchant vessels still weighed anchor and sailors would drink, gamble and sink their money into bawdy houses and other dens of depravity.  
  
It was all a bit before Lauchlan’s time, but it was still a raw wound for the city, the battered, bleeding outer limits. Nobody seemed to know what to do about the place, it was far too sprawling and too densely inhabited to be demolished but it was too desolate and filthy to be repurposed. Thus it remained, a dirty, crumbling blight upon the cityscape.  
  
Halburne Street was relatively close to the city proper and far from the riverbank, meaning it was relatively separate from the unscrupulous sorts that inhabited the place. The buildings were a little nicer, there were fewer boarded windows and the facades still wore a coat of paint, flaking and tired though it was. People clambered across rooftops, dirty faced and raggedly dressed, shovelling the snow free and knocking the icicles from their eaves, chattering and calling to one another in harsh, barking tones. Many of them seemed to stop and stare at the carriage as it passed, gawking and laughing like it was something from the carnival, and Lauchlan shrank, embarrassed, into the shadow of the perch, burying his face in the scarf’s woollen folds.  
  
“What number are you?” asked Lauchlan, sliding open the small window built into the panelling, designed just large enough for money to be passed to the driver and back.  
  
“Sixty-two. I’d have thought you would remember that,” Corbin said, his voice light and teasing.  
  
Lauchlan shut the window in lieu of response, but Corbin’s laughter rang out just as clearly.  
  
In truth Lauchlan had never actually seen the façade. The only time he’d entered the building he’d been in no state to remember much of anything, and when he’d left he had been propelled out of the rear door and hadn’t chanced a look behind him in his flight for home. He had to admit he was quite curious about the place now he was in a healthier frame of mind.  
  
Sixty-two stood on a street corner at the crossroads of Halburne and the seedier Boatswain Street that ran down to the docks. It was a little larger than its neighbours, straddling the corner of the block, both facades bearing a lead paned window that hid behind sturdy cast iron bars, the bricks were clad in a coat of black paint, and a wooden sign half buried in snow wrapped around the store front, bearing the words “Coalford Crossing Apothecary and Sundries” in flaking, yellow letters. The ice upon the windowpanes masked the interior and Lauchlan could see only vague impressions of shelving and cabinets inside.  
  
It was a little underwhelming. Lauchlan had expected to see Corbin’s name emblazoned across the façade, the man was certainly proud enough.  
  
He pulled the horses to a standstill. They eagerly lowered their heads to chase the last of their oats around the feedbags. There were no hitching posts or bollards on the street, so he tied them to a corroded lamppost that leaned at a precarious angle.  
  
He opened the door for Corbin, and lowered the foot iron down before he could protest.  
  
Corbin huffed and glowered at him from inside, but Lauchlan managed to hold his ground, relieving the man of his luggage before he could make another fuss. He stood back, letting the man clamber down from the carriage in the disgraceful manner he seemed so keen on. He skidded on the thick layer of ice, his feet sliding away from him for a moment before he managed to catch his balance. His weight grounded him, the ice slowly crumpling as he sunk into the snowdrift, buried up to his thighs. He hissed in displeasure and levelled a glare at Lauchlan, who was quite comfortable, the drift scarcely reaching his knees.  
  
“You just can’t help yourself can you,” Corbin grumbled.  
  
“And I just don’t see why you’re so averse to simple manners,” said Lauchlan, shooting what he hoped was a sufficiently meaningful look in return. He was honestly quite bewildered, he’d never met a man who became downright combative when paid common courtesy.  
  
Corbin huffed and rolled his eyes. He turned from Lauchlan and waded laboriously away from him, avoiding the storefront to take them down a narrow side alley that wrapped around the building, where a familiar brass plated door stood waiting for them.  
  
“It’s demeaning,” said Corbin as he fished his keys from his pocket.  
  
“I’m fairly certain I mean the exact opposite,” said Lauchlan, shrugging in confusion.  
  
Corbin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  
  
“Not ‘round here. Here people do things a little differently. It’s a matter of context, you could say,” said Corbin, gesturing with his keys before putting one to the lock.  
  
“But I’m not from around here. You know that I mean differently than whatever the people here mean,” said Lauchlan. He wondered what on earth Corbin thought that he meant, if anything other than to be polite. He wished he hadn’t a moment later, with Corbin in the picture the possibilities were positively obscene.  
  
Corbin sighed, planting a hand on his hip and rolling his eyes in Lauchlan’s direction.  
  
“That may well be, but you certainly won’t earn yourself any favours that way,” grumbled Corbin. The lock clicked, and he put his shoulder to the door. It creaked open, and he stumbled inside, tracking the snow in along with him.  
  
“Just as well I wasn’t seeking any then,” muttered Lauchlan as he stepped in behind him.  
  
Corbin whirled around and levelled a withering glare in his direction, clearly having heard the quip, and Lauchlan shrank a little beneath it.  
  
“I do beg your pardon,” drawled Corbin, his tone saccharin and his eyes gleaming with challenge.  
  
Lauchlan spluttered, taking a moment to reclaim his nerve.  
  
“This makes no sense Corbin! If you don’t want to be treated well, then how on earth would you have me to treat you?” asked Lauchlan.  
  
Corbin softened, his gaze loosing its bite.  
  
“It’s all a bit nonsensical I know. That’s just how people are. Go fetch that crate for me will you,” sighed Corbin, wrenching his things from Lauchlan’s hands and turning away from him.  
  
Lauchlan opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it. Corbin had put a rather definitive halt to their discussion, and Lauchlan doubted anything else Corbin had to say would make any more sense.  
  
He made his way back out to the carriage. There were a handful of street urchins gleefully hurling snowballs at the horses. The poor beasts were dancing on their hooves and tossing their heads in fear. Lauchlan shouted at them angrily, running toward them as quickly as the snow would allow. They scattered, jeering and giving him the french salute as they sprinted away.  
  
Fury and insult flared up in him for a moment as he watched them run, impotent and curdling. He considered giving chase for a moment, but they were too quick for him, vanishing down alleys and over railings in a blink. Their laughter alone was left behind, ringing in Lauchlan’s ears as he fumed. How dare they? What right had they to bother the poor creatures? He stormed back to the carriage and did what he could to soothe them, though in his anger he did more to calm himself before the horses. Holding their heads steady and stroking their necks till his anger simmered down, and then more still till both his mares settled. He was lucky he stopped the children when he did, the horses could have easily broken free of their mooring if they’d put their backs into it. The lamppost seemed a hairsbreadth away from falling over as it was.  
  
Once he was sure that the horses were steady, and that there was no further sign of the urchins loitering around, he hefted the crate from the rack and hastily dragged it inside, the barricaded door closing behind him with a heavy click.  
  
The house smelled the same as he remembered, a little bitter, a little damp, but the earthy smell of herbs and wood smoke was pervasive and welcoming. The hallway was too narrow to carry the crate through on his own, so he left it by the coat hooks and wandered further inside.  
  
The ground floor looked a little nicer than the floor above. There was still wallpaper adorning the plaster, printed in a pleasant geometric pattern of beige and olive green. It was faded and beginning to peel around the edges, but a concerted effort had been made to glue it back down. The rooms were cramped, and the hallway dark, so he opened the first door he came across hoping for the best. The door creaked open to a storeroom of some kind, the walls lined with shelves and cupboards overflowing with boxes and jars. The glass caught the light like a crystal chandelier, a myriad of blues, greens and browns twinkling at him from the shelves invitingly. He wandered in, his arms locked rigidly by his sides, lest he knock something over.  
  
The room was longer than it seemed from outside, running perpendicular to the hallway, before turning to the left and opening up. They was no door, only a wooden doorframe and a thick canvas curtain, which had already been drawn aside.  
  
The archway emerged onto the storefront, low shelves placed in rows divvied up the floor, the walls lined with tall cabinets and low cases. It was very clean, the floorboards shining and the many shelves full of jars, tins, bottles and pillboxes were all neatly organised and labelled, marred only by a thin layer of dust that had settled over the last few days. The counter was made from some sort of dark hardwood that gleamed dully beneath a thick coating of protective wax, hiding years upon years worth of gouges and stains. There was a tarnished metal cash box, securely locked and bolted to the far end of the countertop, a book of blank receipts and a fountain pen laid atop it, a roll of butchers paper on a dispenser beside, and beneath the two there was a short wooden step stool, the seat worn smooth from constant use.  
  
It was strange to be on the other side of a shop counter, almost intrinsically wrong, even when he knew that noone was about to ask him to shift it. Corbin probably wouldn’t appreciate it, wherever the man had gone, but Lauchlan felt his curiosity drive him on regardless of his usual good manner. Corbin spoke so little about himself, and seeing the place were he made his living made him seem so much more familiar. Lauchlan ran his hand along the counter, exploring its imperfections with his fingertips. The place probably held more memories of Corbin than Lauchlan ever would. It was sobering to think about it all. He doubted he’d ever forget Corbin again, not for as long as he lived, but the thought of becoming just another mark amongst the multitudes was depressingly real. Corbin must have had other lovers in the past, perhaps a great many. How else could he have learned to do the things he’d done? Lauchlan doubted he had been anything special when compared to those who came before him, women, or perhaps other men with prettier faces, wit sharpened tongues and a far better clue of what they were doing. It wasn’t exactly difficult, all things considered.  
  
He supposed that was the way things were, what was rare and precious to him, another man may value little more that dirt. He’d never before considered himself to be the item in question though. The thought of being ascribed such an arbitrary thing as value, like cattle at auction, was disquieting. It was easy to be bloat ones own sense of self worth, to convince yourself that you were special, that you were better that he was more than the sum of his parts.  When he thought of it objectively, truly thought, measuring and weighing what little he had in his favour, the figure he conjured was uncomfortably low.  
  
He turned away, irrationally angry at the scarred countertop and slunk back to the hall, finding it as empty as he’d left it.  
  
He called Corbin’s name, and followed the muffled reply upstairs to the living quarters. He found Corbin in his bedroom, the small, cluttered room little different than the last time he’d seen it, though the drapes were drawn, and the bed made with more blankets. Corbin himself had already opened his suitcase, and was haphazardly shoving his possessions back into the wardrobe.  
  
“I left the crate downstairs, it was a little awkward to carry much further,” Lauchlan said.  
  
Corbin hummed in response, remaining fixed to his task.  
  
Lauchlan folded his hands in front of him awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot as he waited for some form of recognition. The stalemate stretched into minutes, and Lauchlan was loosing hope by the time Corbin swung the wardrobe shut, jumping a little when he noticed that wasn’t alone.  
  
“What are you waiting for?” he said, his eyes narrowing.  
  
“I thought you’d want some help with your things,” Lauchlan muttered, blushing meekly beneath Corbin’s gaze. He’d been waiting to be excused, truthfully, but of course Corbin would ignore that particular etiquette.  
  
“I am perfectly capable of handling my own clothing thank you,” Corbin snapped, but there was little menace to it. He seemed amused if nothing else.  
  
“Well, if there’s nothing else you need. I guess I’d ought to go,” Lauchlan said, awkwardly wringing his hands and gazing around the room, uncomfortable memories teasing his consciousness from every corner.  
  
“Yes, Lauchlan. You really ought,” Corbin chuckled, waving his hands in exaggerated shooing motions.  
  
Lauchlan winced, blushing at the childish treatment. He didn’t want to be remembered as the clueless, childish, useless man who didn’t know when to call it quits. Was that what he’d be remembered for? He could only hope not, but the more he thought of it the more likely it seemed.  He didn’t even know why it mattered so much to him, Corbin would think whatever he wanted of Lauchlan and he doubted anything he did could change the man’s convictions.  
  
Still, it rankled so. Corbin had taken hold of his life and shaken it till everything within was in disarray. He wanted, well, he wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted. He couldn’t bear to be brushed aside like that. He wanted his memory to be something enduring, to know that Corbin would remember him half as vividly as Lauchlan knew he would remember him.  
  
Lauchlan didn’t know where the conviction had sprung from, but he clung to it none the less. Lauchlan stepped forward, and clasped a hand on Corbin’s shoulder before he could convince himself that this was all a terrible mistake.  
  
Corbin glanced up at him in surprise. He cocked an eyebrow, and brought a hand to Lauchlan’s forearm, gently tugging it as if in question.  
  
Lauchlan stooped downward, and found Corbin’s lips with his own. Corbin grunted in surprise, but after a single, tense moment, he relaxed, allowing the tentative kiss to grow closer, and softer, and less and less chaste. Lauchlan eagerly sank into the kiss, winding his arms around Corbin’s shoulders in a loose embrace. It wasn’t much, but this was something he could do, something he knew was welcomed, as he had yet to forget the so-called etiquette lesson Corbin had treated him to the last time they parted ways. Part of him stirred, and his hands drifted downward of their own volition. Lauchlan didn’t care to stop them.  
  
Corbin nipped at him, softly at first, but with increasing voracity with every passing moment, and after a few more he curled one of his hands around Lauchlan’s neck, clasping a handful of his hair and tugging it harshly backwards. Lauchlan broke away, Corbin pulling him backward, and his scowling expression swam into focus.  
  
“That’s more than enough now, don’t you think?” Corbin growled, his voice rough and low, turning the question into a command.  
  
Lauchlan shrank away from him, pulling his hands away from where they had settled and holding them out in a manner he hoped was placating.  
  
Corbin huffed, his expression shuttering into a frightening blankness, the furrow in his brow the only indication the man was feeling anything at all. Lauchlan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.  
  
“I just, I meant. The last time you, I thought you wanted...” Lauchlan stuttered feebly.  
  
Corbin sighed deeply, the furrow in his brow fading as he buried his face his hand, turning away from Lauchlan as he shook his head.  
  
“Trust you latch onto that of all things,” Corbin muttered beneath his breath, he sighed anew and turned around to face him again.  
  
“Just save it, alright? There’s a time and a place and now’s not it. Not when you have places to be and I have things I ought to be doing,” Corbin said.  
  
“I was just, I just wanted to say, I don’t, I didn’t” Lauchlan stuttering trailed off. He had no idea what he should say to the man, no idea what he could say, and the realisation was suffocating.  
  
“You did what?” asked Corbin  
  
“I didn’t, I, I’m not sure what to say. Goodbye, I guess?” Lauchlan said tittering nervously.  
  
Corbin balked, staring back at him in surprise before he shook the expression away.  
  
“So say it for heavens sake man. It’s not that bloody hard,” he sighed, his tongue clicking dryly against the roof of his mouth as the sentence trailed off. His eyes laughed at him, and Lauchlan blushed.  
  
He did. It wasn’t enough though, it wasn’t what he had meant at all.  
  
Lauchlan reached out, place a hand upon Corbin’s shoulder again. He squeezed gently, hoping that the gesture managed to convey at least a little of what he felt.  
  
Corbin looked at the hand, startled, his expression uncharacteristically soft and open. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then his expression shuttered again, his back straightening. He brushed Lauchlan’s hand away.  
  
“Lauchlan what on earth do you want? Don’t you have a bed to be getting back to now?” he barked.  
  
“I just... I wanted... I don’t know Corbin I just _want_ ,” Lauchlan admitted, ashamedly gazing to the floor. He had no idea how to tell the truth of it without sounding self centred and childish again, and that was the very thing he wanted so dearly to escape.  
  
Corbin forced a bark of laughter, his eyes hardening and the furrow splitting back down his brow.  
  
“Wanted. You want do you. Well, that’s all well and good, I think you’ve forgotten whose terms we’re working on here,” Corbin growled.  
  
Lauchlan shrank backward in surprise. He hadn’t, he didn’t mean that. He’d never meant anything like that, not at all! But as he opened his mouth to explain himself Corbin swelled up to his full height and redoubled his glaring.  
  
“I didn’t meant that,” Lauchlan stuttered, shrinking beneath Corbin’s glare and bowing his head in shame. How was it that he managed to ruin everything with a handful of words? I wasn’t fair, damn it all.  
  
“Then what did you mean,” Corbin said.  
  
“I just wanted, I just wanted you to know that... Corbin I don’t know I’m sorry I...”  
  
“Will you stop bloody apologizing! I swear every other word out of your mouth is bloody ‘I’m sorry.’ It’s almost starting to lose its meaning,” Corbin barked, his arms crossing stiffly over his chest.  
  
“I am, I mean it!” Lauchlan said, his eye prickling in frustration. He didn’t want to ruin this, it was too important.  
  
“So move on and say it. It’s not hard,” Corbin huffed.  
  
“I’ll miss you. I just wanted, I don’t know what I wanted. I just wanted you to know, but I didn’t know how to say it,” Lauchlan pleaded. He berated himself for sounding so pathetic in front of Corbin. He couldn’t even bear to look the man in the eye.  
  
Why was it every time he thought he knew the right thing to do, Corbin proved him wrong? It was almost as if the man lived to make a fool of him, not that Lauchlan had ever needed the help before, but that was the problem wasn’t it? Perhaps expecting to be thought of as anything but was too fanciful.    
  
Corbin was silent, and after a moment Lauchlan glanced fearfully up at the man. He was staring at him like he’d sprouted a second head, his expression caught someplace between shock and confusion, his jaw working silently.  
  
The silence stretched out, thick and tense in the air. Lauchlan waited in resignation for the retort, but in its place the silence was pierced by a high pitched whinny, and the crunch of hoof upon snow.  
  
Corbin bolted to the window, jerking it up and screaming unspeakable profanities onto the street below. The urchins jeered back in gleeful defiance.  
  
“Go down to the street man. What are you waiting for, go!” Corbin barked at him as he stood dumb and still.  
  
He obeyed, numbly at first but in rising panic as the reality of the situation sunk in.  
  
He sprinted out the side door, emerging onto the street as the street urchins ran circles around the panicking horses, tossing snow and threatening them with birch sticks and timber that they swished through the air. A boy no older than nine had approached one of the horses by her flank, waving a stick and laughing as she tossed up her head in terror.  
  
Lauchlan roared at them, telling them get back, and the boys jumped in fright as he barrelled toward them. The boy with the stick didn’t even notice the kick as it came, the mare lashing out with her hind limb, her hoof connecting with his chest and sending him sprawling backward.  
  
The boys dropped their weapons in shock, and caught between the terrified horses,  and the raging, one eyed horseman that came barrelling toward them, they balked, drawing together, only for the second mare to rear up and lash out with her hoofs, clipping another, older boy in his shoulder. They screamed, and scattered in all directions, the greater threat having reared their heads, leaving the young boy to his fate.  
  
Lauchlan clasped their feedbags, pulling their heads down and forcing them to meet his eye. He talked to them, ordered them really, doing all he could to keep their attention on him and away from the helpless child sprawled on the ground.  
  
Corbin darted out behind him, skirting around the panicking horses and dragging the moaning urchin away from them.  
  
“Stay with them,” Corbin hissed as he dragged the boy into the shop, and Lauchlan nodded fervently, not daring to break eye contact with his terrified charges.  
  
It took a good half hour to soothe them. They were frightened and ready to bolt at the slightest provocation, pacing and dancing as much as their trappings would allow them, theirs heads raised and ears flat, but Lauchlan knew they would never kick him. They knew him too well, and as far as they were concerned he may as well have been a horse himself. He smelled enough like one, at least for the time being. He spoke to them, holding their heads down by the bags and their eyes on his with his persistent commands. They didn’t calm completely, no, they would not calm till they were safely away from this terror filled place, but they stilled their pacing and lowered their heads to him, allowing him to stroke and reassure them as best he knew how.  
  
“Are they alright?” Corbin asked, his voice subdued and nervous, peering out from the entrance of the ally.  
  
“Are they alright? Corbin what about the child? He could have been killed!” Lauchlan admonished.  
  
“The bastard just got clipped a bit. He’s got a few bruised ribs and a lump the size of a dinner plate, but that’s nothing short what he deserved. I sent the little rat on his way,” Corbin muttered, spitting at the ground in disgust.  
  
Lauchlan wrinkled his nose in distaste at the gesture, but said nothing. He was grateful that Corbin was wise enough to stay away from the poor beasts, and keep his voice low. He didn’t want to contemplate Corbin getting hurt because of him.  
  
“Is that sort of behaviour common here?” Lauchlan asked quietly.  
  
“It is and it isn’t. No one can afford horses here, and people don’t bring them here because they normally end up getting nicked. I figured you wouldn’t be staying long, so it wasn’t worth worrying about. But then, everything got a bit complicated,” Corbin said, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.  
  
“Is that why you wanted me to leave?” Lauchlan asked.  
  
“I, well, yes. Mostly. Look, this really isn’t the place,” Corbin muttered, his gaze leaving Lauchlan’s and settling someplace on the ground in front of him.  
  
Lauchlan looked away, bringing his eyes back to his charges and stroking their necks. He wasn’t stupid. He was a fool certainly, an oblivious one for much of the time, but he was not stupid. He knew the lie the moment he heard it, but he wanted so badly for it to be true. Wanted so badly to be understood, and to put this whole debacle behind him.  
  
“Corbin, you do know what I meant, don’t you? About before, I mean. I don’t want you to think that I’m that sort of man. I wouldn’t do that to anyone, you understand?” Lauchlan pleaded, though he lacked the courage to look the man in the eye.  
  
“Yes, I understand it now. Let’s just forget what happened after, alright?” Corbin said, his voice was tight and low.  
  
Lauchlan nodded, closing his eye as relief flooded through him. He could forget, quite willingly in fact, and he voiced his agreement eagerly.  
  
“You should probably take them home,” Corbin said softly.    
  
Lauchlan nodded meekly, but said nothing. He clearly wasn’t wanted any longer, it stung, but what else could he do but go? Besides, Corbin was right. After their ordeal the mares needed to be returned to their stable, were they would be safe and secure again.  
  
He untied them from the lamppost, and reigns in hand he clambered back up to the drivers perch.  
  
“We’ll meet some other time, yes?” Lauchlan asked, hopefully. He couldn’t bear it if he’d ruined this. Couldn’t bear it if he went back to being alone with nothing but his own selfishness to blame.  
  
“Don’t worry. I’ll come round again. We’ll play backgammon,” Corbin said, laughing at some private joke. Lauchlan returned the grin anyway, grateful beyond words.  
  
He tipped the bill of his cap in farewell, and Corbin snorted in laughter, rolling his eyes and waving him away. Cautiously, tenderly, Lauchlan flicked the reigns, and set the horses trotting for home.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people. I’m so sorry this chapters been so long coming. I wanted to get this out at Christmas but both this chapter and the next have been a royal pain in the behind. I’ve gone through about five different versions and I’m still not happy with it. All the logistical stuff really drags it down, and I know it’s boring, but whenever I try to edit things out I just can’t figure out how or where or why to do so. My Aspergers demands that all logistics are explained, all activities documented and all management decisions justified. It’s really irritating because I have more than 20000 words worth of subsequent chapters that are all ready to go and I feel they're really strong and compelling pieces of writing, some of the best I’ve written so far, but my brain demands I explain and justify every step the story takes to get from A to B and it takes forever to get the damn ball rolling. I hope you can forgive me, but I promise that things are going to start happening soon, though the next chapter is proving to be just as difficult as this one. I really want to get this story finished this year, but at this point I’m not banking on anything.
> 
> Due to extenuating circumstances this chapter has not been beta read, so all errors are my own and I’d really appreciate having them pointed out to me.


	8. Spare the Rod, Spoil the Child

 

Lauchlan would never get used to the idea of owning his own home. After spending years living month-by-month, it was almost uncanny. He’d never quite got used to the novelty of not worrying over rent, or the constant fear that he’d be turned out in favour of some able man that could afford to pay more and do it regularly. Nor had he managed to forget the location of every church refuge and soup kitchen after memorising them all so thoroughly. In all honestly, he hoped he never did. The fortune that carried him to where he was wasn’t the sort of thing that just happened, and he didn’t want to forget that.

 

Home was an old, wide set terrace that stood shoulder to shoulder with a street of identical brethren, all built of red brick, white moulding and grey slate roofs. His own home was unique in that the door had a pair of narrow glass panels on either side of the knocker, the coloured glass arranged in simple organic patterns, the panels a myriad of rich reds and yellows.

 

The interior was all very old fashioned. The wallpaper, which was likely as old as Lauchlan was, if not older, bore floral patterns in soft, neutral colours. The furniture was old and was beginning to look a little tired, but it was so comfortable and familiar that he didn’t much care.

 

Percival, all these years and Lauchlan still didn’t know quite what to think of him. Of course he held a great well of respect for his dear, departed mentor, friendship and gratitude he held in spades, but even then, he felt that the man had felt a great deal more for him than he could ever return.

 

Percival had been well into his twilight years when he’d taken Lauchlan under his wing, certainly old enough to have retired and gone off to the country or wherever it was people went when they had more money left than time, but he hadn’t. His wife had died long before Lauchlan had known him, and he had no children, no legacy at all. At least, not until Lauchlan had come along.

 

Percival had given him work, offered him tutelage, bargained for a roof over his head and food on his plate and was always, so openly, there for him. Whether he knew he needed the help or not. He’d always be thankful for it, how couldn’t he? But it had always filled him with guilt, as even a half blind fool like him could see what was in front of his face. Percival had wanted a son, and for all the respect and admiration Lauchlan held for the man, Lauchlan had already had a father, even if only by marriage. The man was, and always would be, his father. He couldn’t just shunt him aside because Percival was here and his stepfather was not, it wasn’t right. It would never be right.

 

To his credit, Percival didn’t seem to have minded, perhaps he even understood, Lauchlan would never know. After some ten years working beneath the man’s gentle guidance, he’d died quite suddenly. It had been well into spring, the ice had thawed and the trees were into their full foliage at last, but a sudden snap of frost had sent people reeling, and on its heels an outbreak of pneumonia had ripped through the populace.

 

He’d sat at Percival’s bedside when he died, his final breaths rattling sickeningly in his chest. The overseer had thrown a fit over it, loudly asking what the point of having an apprentice was if they weren’t there when they were needed, but Lauchlan hadn’t listened. He had known in the pit of his gut that Percival wasn’t going to come back out of this, and no one, least of all Percival, deserved to die alone.

 

He had been surprised to discover that Percival had a solicitor, he’d had one for a long time apparently. He met the man at the funeral. It was surprising how many people had come out of the woodwork to see him off. Distant cousins, old neighbours, estranged co-workers, stable boys and even the company farrier had come to pay their respects. Lauchlan hadn’t known what to feel. No one had bothered to see him when he was dying, but when he was dead, no one could seem to mourn him loudly enough. Part of him was angry, another part glad that he wouldn’t be alone in mourning Percival, but most of all, he was depressed that Percival would never know how much he would be missed. When he had been laid to rest, the solicitor had sat him down with the distant cousins and estranged co-workers, and read Percival’s final testament.

 

The cousins had each been given an equal share of his savings and a variety of other things; mementos, heirlooms, photographs of the family and other odds and sods that held no value to anyone but Percival and the cousins. The estranged co-workers had received much the same, though some received small sums of money owed and volumes of books on business and investment that Lauchlan had once spent his evenings pouring over and memorising under Percival’s watch. Finally, and to everyone’s surprise, his home, and the remainder of its content, had gone to Lauchlan. There had been an uproar over that. The cousins had loosed a barrage of questions and when Lauchlan, still reeling from the shock of it, had no answers for them, they turned on the solicitor. They wanted to know if Lauchlan was legally allowed to inherit (he was,) how old the will was (seven years,) if it had been altered recently (it hadn’t,) if there was an older version they could see (there, most assuredly, was not,) and why hadn’t anyone heard of Lauchlan until this moment? To which the solicitor had asked them when they’d last contacted Percival, and they’d responded with red-faced silence. The estranged co-workers only shook their heads and laughed at the display. As the party eventually filed out to remove their share of Percival’s possessions from his home beneath the solicitors guidance, many of them had patted his rigid shoulders, and told him that he ‘must’ve been a good kid’ and that Percival had been ‘a good man’ as if he hadn’t already known.

 

Sometimes he still wondered why Percival had left him so much. Had he really been so alone? So devoid of companionship and family that he’d latched onto Lauchlan of all people? Lauchlan, who had so steadfastly refused to treat him as anything other than a friend, when heavens knew he had stepped above and beyond that title with the very first stride.

 

Lauchlan couldn’t imagine life without his family. His mother, his stepfather and his beloved little sister, well, half sister technically, but it hardly mattered to him. He wrote them every week, and there had been a dark time when their missives had been the only things to keep him going.

 

But Percival, well, it seemed that he really hadn’t had anyone else at all.

 

The thought had kept him awake at night in the weeks after his death, ashamed by his denial of what Percival must have so desperately longed for. He’d stayed in his two room flat for more than a month before he’d plucked up the courage to move into the house.

 

Most of the house was still as it was when Percival had lived, though the small things that had made it Percival’s home, the trinkets, decorations and personal keepsakes had all been taken away by fuming cousins and bemused co-workers. He’d kept everything except for the bed. As strongly as he felt for Percival, he could not bring himself to sleep in the same bed that the man had breathed his last in. The frame he’d cleaned and sold to a pleasant young couple through an advertisement in the morning paper. He’d tried to clean the mattress and linens but the sour smell of illness and death just wouldn’t wash out, so he’d burned them, not willing to fob them off onto some unknowing soul.

 

It got easier with time. Little things helped. He visited Percival’s gravestone, keeping it well tended and adorned with flowers long after the other mourners had let it be, along with the stone beside it that shared Percival’s surname. He’d cleaned the old building from the cellar to the rafters, in doing so he found a small photograph behind a bookshelf. It was speckled and faded, a strapping, baby-faced Percival standing straight-backed and proud with a pretty woman perched on his arm, her white gown flowing down the steps of the cathedral that loomed behind them. It was a beautiful photograph, which must have cost a pretty sum to be taken and printed by hand, only to be hidden away and forgotten. He’d matted it, framed it, and placed it reverently upon the mantle. It stayed there to this day. It was a simple reminder that Percival had known love and happiness once. Better that than to remember only his lonesome end.

 

He gingerly let himself into the hall, scraping his boots on the step before setting them on the rack to air. After so many days of stable work there was no telling what was caked into the soles.

 

He’d already dropped off the excess food at a church soup kitchen that he had remembered being particularly kind, the priest had gushed and praised god in suffocating thanks. He did keep the sack of oats for himself though, as he found he had a craving for sweet porridge that couldn’t be comfortably ignored. The majority of his clothes and linens he’d taken straight to the Chinese laundry, unwilling to bring the dreadful stench into his house. He then stabled the horses, and crossed three blocks on foot to bring the rest of his belongings home.

 

The afternoon was spent in a flurry of activity, he bathed, scrubbing a weeks worth of accumulated filth from his body. He dressed in clean clothes and set to work shovelling and salting his step, scraping the ice from his windows and knocking the icicles from his eaves, before clambering up to the rooftop to shovel it free. Then shovelled the step _again,_ becausehe really should have thought of that before he cleaned the rooftop. He dusted his furniture, swept the floor, lit fires in all three hearths (and the oven for good measure) and beat the dirt out of his canvas luggage.

 

By then the fires had grown to a merry crackle and the chill of the winter lifted from the floor after so many days of inhabitation. He took a minute to sit and catch his breath, satisfied by the productive evening. He’d received no post yet, but with the roads not yet clear that was to be expected, and he had no doubt there would be a deluge of it tomorrow.

 

Once he’d caught his breath, he went to the scullery and fetched the wooden tea caddy from the pantry. Removing the paper bag full of tealeaves, he counted out several pennies from the stash of house money hidden beneath, then returned the rest.

 

He left though the scullery, crunching through the snow and over the narrow wall that separated his tiny post stamp of a garden from that of his neighbours, the Shiers. They were an alright pair. They took themselves much too seriously in his opinion, but Lauchlan would never say such a thing to their faces. The husband, Jedediah Shier was an intelligent man who worked as a clerk for a business he could never remember the name of, somebody and somebody’s holdings or something along those lines. On the off chance they met on the footpath he’d tip his hat to him and make small talk about the state of the economy and other dull subjects before wishing him good day. He was on the boorish side but he seemed genuinely friendly, and Lauchlan appreciated the effort he made to be polite.

 

He rapped on the scullery door, and a few moments later the bolt pulled open and Theresa’s round face peered out from the doorframe.

 

“Evening, may I come in or would you rather I swap coats and use the gentleman’s entrance?” Lauchlan asked, tugging the bill of the tweed cap in an exaggerated greeting. It had become something of a joke between them. At first Theresa hadn’t thought it proper for him to enter through what was ostensibly the tradesman’s entrance, but Lauchlan disagreed seeing as he was, in some sense, a tradesman himself, not to mention that it would be terribly rude of him to enter through the front door and disturb the masters of the house when it was Theresa he wanted to talk to. After some debate they had come to the mutual agreement that so long as Lauchlan came with business in mind, he’d be fine to enter through the rear of the house, anything else and he’d have to go to the front door and speak with the master of the house like ‘a proper upstanding gentleman’ ought.

 

Theresa giggled behind her hand, her eyes glowing as she opened the door, inviting him in.

 

Theresa was still so very young, barely a woman at all really, and she still held the soft round cheeks and unmarred complexion of youth. She had a little Spaniard in her, or at least that was what Lauchlan thought. She had darker skin than most, her cheeks dusted with freckles, and the hair pinned so carefully beneath her maids bonnet was wild and curled into tiny brown corkscrews that did their best to escape whenever they could. She’d grow into a beautiful lady some day, anyone with eyes could see that.

 

“Did the weather treat you kindly?” Theresa asked.

 

“As well as can be expected really. I was much more shorthanded than I would have liked, but we made do. How about you? The Shiers must have been driving you barmy cooped up in here all week,” Lauchlan said.

 

“Oh shush, I’ll not have you speaking ill of the Master and Mistress that way,” Theresa planted a hand on her hip and swatted at him, her eyes smiling, and Lauchlan laughed. A few months ago Theresa had been too proper to even sit down and share a cup of tea with him. It was wonderful how she had come out from her shell.

 

“Oh now now, I think I know Mrs Shier well enough to know I wouldn’t survive a week cooped up with her,” Lauchlan retorted, and Theresa sighed and shook her head.

 

“Well I will say that the Mistress has been a little work. The way she went on you’d think the world was ending. I’ve spent all week running around trying to keep her distracted,” Theresa said with a shake of her head, and Lauchlan chuckled at the gesture.

 

“That cat of yours, on the other hand, has needed no such thing. In fact, she’s been quite the busy little bee,” she said, sliding a reproachful look his way.

 

“I hope she didn’t wasn’t too much trouble,” Lauchlan said, removing his cap and thumbing the bill apologetically.

 

“She’s been a bit of a bother, but when she wasn’t being a bother the little terror found more than five mice, five! And a pair of rats of all things, I didn’t even know we had a rat problem, yet alone two of the vermin!” she exclaimed, her face paled and she shuddering at the memory.

 

“I wouldn’t worry too much, the storm probably brought them in from outside. I must ask though, that seems like a rather specific number,” Lauchlan worried, Theresa was not the sort to exaggerate for sympathy.

 

“The beast decided the best place to store her larder was in my shoes. I swear I nearly fainted,” she said, palling further still. Lauchlan held her shoulders to steady her and she blushed at the attention, no doubt her sense of propriety nagging at her again. He removed his hands as soon as she steadied, and she gently held her own shoulders in their absence. She must’ve been more deeply affected than he’d thought.

 

“She’s done that before. I’m sorry, I really should have warned you,” Lauchlan said, wincing sympathetically at the memory. The first time it had happened he hadn’t looked before pulling his boots on. It had not been a pleasant experience by any stretch of the imagination, and he’d since learned to inspect them more thoroughly.

 

“No matter, I’d rather find them dead in my shoes than to have them scurrying about in the pantry,” she shuddered again, clutching her shoulders more tightly before she seemed to realise what she was doing, and dropped her hands to her sides with a blush.

 

“Well, it’s good to know she’s earned her keep then. I don’t suppose you could track her down for me, so I can take her off your hands?” prompted Lauchlan.

 

“What, oh, you’re here to collect her. Of course,” she muttered in a rush, her sentence ending in a nervous laugh directed more at herself than Lauchlan. She bustled out the room with her cheeks blazing.

 

Lauchlan smiled indulgently. Theresa was probably the only person he knew who blushed and stumbled more than he did, or at least she had before Corbin had entered the picture and lit his cheeks up with every other word. He was more than willing to ignore it, he knew how embarrassing it could be.

 

She returned with a weathered picnic basket that hissed and rattled in her arms.

 

“Here’s the little terror. I’m sorry she’s so upset, she’s been in the basket since this morning. I would have let her out but I was afraid I’d never be able to get her back in again. I did put a dish of water in there with her, and I gave her a blanket so she’d be nice and warm,” Theresa said, guiltily picking the hem of her apron.

 

“I understand. I know you’ve got a good heart in you, it’s why I asked you to mind her in the first place,” Lauchlan said, taking the trembling basket and balancing it against his hip. Any other person would probably have given up on the beast. He knew she had a death wish sometimes, she hated to me moved about and would have probably tried to escape the Shier household out of pure spite. For anyone else it would have been too easy to throw up their hands and say that she’d run off and that would be the end of it, not Theresa though.

 

Theresa blushed deeply, biting her lip and glancing away.

 

“Well, thankyou, I do try,” she muttered.

 

“Well, you don’t need to try for nothing, at least not with me about,” Lauchlan said. He dipped his hand into his breast pocket and brought out the pennies, holding them out. Theresa seemed to start his hand, before jolting and raising her own beneath it. He dropped the pennies into her palm. She held them gently, almost reverently, and gasped when she counted them out.

 

“I thought, I thought we’d agreed to tuppence, this is half a shilling!” she cried, holding her palm out to him to offer the coins back. Lauchlan nodded and pushed her hand away from him.

 

“I know,”

 

“But sixpence! Mr. Huxley, tuppence was already an extravagant amount, sixpence just isn’t worth it,” she said in disbelief, staring down at the coins as if they were about to disappear.

 

Lauchlan smiled patiently at the use of his surname. Honestly, he’d never get used to the sound of it. When he’d first come here he’d always been “boy” and when he’d been given his apprenticeship he’d become “The Boy” and then later graduating to “Sir,” somehow skipping “Lauchlan” and “Mr. Huxley” along the line. Even Percival had stuck to calling him “Huxley,” or just plain “child.” If anyone was on terms to call him by his first name it had to be Theresa, but he knew better than to ask. She’d never agree to it, it’d be “too improper” or something like that.

 

“If anyone’s earned a little extra it’s you, besides. If I’m not wrong you’ll need some new stockings,” he said, immediately regretting the quip. It wasn’t proper to bring up such things, especially not to a lady.

 

“Mr. Huxley!” Theresa exclaimed in outrage, her cheeks flaring red and her hand covering her face.

 

“Forgive me, please forgive me. I know I can be rude at times, you know I don’t mean to. It’s just this cat you see,” at that he held up the hissing basket in embarrassed explanation, “takes delight in attacking peoples shins. She makes a bit of a game of dashing out from cover and latching onto the nearest limb, she’s ruined a few good trousers in the process, and if I know her at all she’s be doing the same to you. I’d hate for you to be put out because of me, especially in the winter, hence, a little extra for the property damage. I’m not wrong, am I?” Lauchlan stumbled over his explanation.

 

He honestly didn’t mean to insult her, but he often forgot how different things were now he wasn’t a servant himself. He was above that now, a whole class above that. He couldn’t just say the things he used to, but it was so easy to forget that he wasn’t part of that world anymore.

 

“Well, yes she did do that. I guess I, well, thankyou. For being so considerate, I mean,” she muttered, her blush glowing on her cheeks like a beacon. She closed her hand around the coins and clutched them close to her chest.

 

Lauchlan smiled at that. He would never have taken the money back of course, but it was good to see he wouldn’t have to argue about it any more. If anyone deserved a little treat every now and again, it was Theresa. She had such a full plate already, working for the Shiers, and still she managed to find time to do him favours. His salary was enough for a small family to live in modest comfort, so giving her a little extra here and there was the least he could do to thank her.

 

“Well, I’d better take my leave before I fit my other foot into my mouth,” said Lauchlan with a laugh.

 

“No, that’s alright, I know you don’t mean to be improper,” Theresa said, forgiving as always.

 

“Well, I seem to manage it anyway. I imagine the Shiers are running you off your feet getting the house back into order, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work. Don’t worry about the usual meals either, I can manage for a few days while you get on top of things,” said Lauchlan, rearranging the basket in his arms. The terror was growing impatient and doing her best to claw him through the wicker.

 

“If you wish, good day then,” she said, offering a small curtsey.

 

Lauchlan chuckled merrily in light of the overly formal gesture. He plopped his cap back onto his head and tipped it in return, returning her farewell and taking his leave.

 

Once safely back in his own scullery, he set the basket down in the centre of the floor, pulled on a pair of gloves, tipped the basket away from him, and unlatched the lid with all the precision and care taken by a man defusing a lethal bomb. The flap swished open the moment the moment the latch was undone, a pair of dark grey paws latched onto his wrists, her claws picking him through the wool before she launched herself out of the basket, darting across the floor and up the cabinets, clawing her way into the space between the top of the cold closet and the ceiling. She fluffed herself up and hissed threateningly at the basket, glaring at it as if daring Lauchlan to stuff her back inside.

 

“Well I missed you too Vagabond. How lovely to see you again after all this time,” he said to the cat, laughing as she hissed accusingly back at him.

 

He cleaned out the basket, removed the blanket and water dish and made a show of tucking the basket away into the cupboards. He filled the saucer with fresh water, took a tin of pilchards from the pantry and slowly cut it open, making as much noise as he could. Once he was sure he had her undivided attention he poured the oily fish into the chipped, ceramic bowl he kept just for her, and set the two vessels side by side on the countertop.

 

She sniffed haughtily at the air, her tail twitching, and Lauchlan calmly began to count down from thirty.

 

By the count of fifteen she began her decent from the top of the cold closet, and by five she had slunk toward the dish, her hackles raised warily at him as she lowered her head to the bowl, hastily gobbling up her favourite treat.

 

She was a handsome animal, her coat was thick and long, mostly a dark, sooty grey in colour. She had a mask of black across her face, and most of her hide was peppered with the white of old scars. She was a larger than most cats, lean and long legged. She’d had her share of scrapes, a few of the teeth in her upper jaw were completely gone, half of one ear had been torn off by some other animal and one of her hind legs couldn’t seem to extend properly, but he’d never seen her slow down because of it.

 

He let her scarf down her pilchards in peace, waiting as she licked the bowl clean of even the slightest smear of the oily fish.

 

“Am I forgiven now?” he asked, offering his hand for her to sniff at.

 

She turned her nose up at it, though she kept her claws to herself, and retreated back to the top of the cold closet. She offered her back to him, her bushy tail swishing back and forth as she smugly licked her chops, and began to groom herself.

 

“You’ll have to forgive me eventually, you know. I’m the only one who’ll put up with you,” said Lauchlan, laughing as Vagabond managed to press even further into the cramped space. She always ran up there when he upset her, though she’d usually come down within an hour or two.

 

She’d been an alley cat, if a very clever one. She had figured out how to open the little scullery window from the outside, and let herself in to warm up by the oven, and help herself to whatever food wasn’t locked away in the pantry. He’d spent days puzzling over the muddy paw prints, and more often than not, bloodstains, that she left on the floor. Eventually he found the window ajar and had a bolt installed. But, after catching sight of a bedraggled and treacherously thin cat scrabbling against the bolted window one rainy night and he’d lost the heart. He purposefully left it open for her, laid a rug in front of the oven and took to leaving out saucers of cream and food scraps on the countertop.

 

Over time she spent more and more time inside, and seemed to grow accustomed to his coming and going. She developed a growing tolerance of his presence, then, later she started allowing him to touch her, and then later to wash her wounds, and later still she began coming upstairs to beg from him when he was lax in putting out food. She soon made herself comfortable throughout the whole house rather than just the scullery, her rug migrating from the oven to the hearth in the parlour. Eventually it reached a point where she just stopped leaving, and Lauchlan bolted the windows in good consciousness.

 

He quite liked having her around. She was good company when she wasn’t in a sulk, or whetting her claws on his shins. He never had troubles with pests, either. No woodlouse, starling or rodent was safe in Vagabonds presence, and neither were any of his shoes.

 

The next morning came abruptly and unwanted, wrenching him out of his warm, familiar bed and into the cold of the winter morning. He stumbled through his morning routine, bleary and ungrounded after spending so much time to himself, awaking slowly rather than by the incessant clanging of the hall clock. It took an unusually long time for him to rouse himself, he wasted a good few minutes fumbling about in his wardrobe for his best work clothes before remembering he had dropped them off at the laundry, Vagabond watching bemusedly from the foot of the bed.

 

He ate porridge for breakfast, again, and wondered if it was possible to get sick of the stuff. He suspected not, but decided to stop by the green grocers anyway. He’d get some chicken necks for Vagabond while he was at it, the cat hadn’t quite forgiven him yet and the pilchards tended to make her smell something awful.

 

He walked the familiar route to the stable, his greatcoat pulled tight around him as the wind tossed it about, and arrived at the stables before the sunrise.

 

The cabbies and stable boys were unlikely to arrive on time in the winter months, the short days and dark, dreary mornings made work sluggish and unpleasant. Lauchlan couldn’t blame them for wanting an extra hour in the warmth of bed, though he did try to give them a token scolding for it. The winter had its upsides though, people disliked walking in the cold and wet of the snowfall, as a result there were more clients desiring shorter trips. They were too tired and bedraggled to care about the high price they payed, keeping profits up despite the lost time.

 

The stable boys were chattering incessantly, complaining of the cold and whining about the work as Lauchlan prodded them into action. There was half the number of them that there should have been, the rest unforgivably tardy, and even with the cabbies arriving at a slow trickle it was a struggle to get everything up and running fast enough. Lauchlan was forced to lend his own back to their work as the stable boys groused.

 

Yesterday’s fiasco was still in his thoughts. The idiot boy could have been killed so easily, had the mare’s kick landed a little more solidly it could have snapped his ribs like twigs, and had the snow had not been there to cushion him he could have cracked his head open on the cobbles. It could have been so easily done, and Lauchlan wouldn’t have been able to do a thing to stop it. It was making him jumpy just thinking about the possibilities, and he twitched and fretted as each horse was hitched up. Children could be cruel and foolish but that didn’t mean they deserved such punishment, especially not by their own actions. The mere possibility of such a thing was haunting, no matter how Lauchlan tried to silence the what-ifs.

 

He kept his eye on the boys, trying his best to put the right names to the right faces as he recalled the boys he’d hired on for the storm. He didn’t think he’d seen any of them yet, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d be able to if they pulled their favourite trick again. He didn’t know what he’d do if they did, but he was going to do _something._ He’d get them to work those wages off at the very least.

 

He didn’t have a complete staff until it was half past seven, and he was certain that the stable boys were pulling the name swapping trick again. They were all wearing shades of grey, their faces smeared with soot and their hair disguised under overlarge caps. They smirked and snickered incessantly under Lauchlan’s scrutiny.

 

Lauchlan felt his stomach sink, as the more closely he watched them. The expressions that they wore whist they snickered and gossiped were the very same he had seen on the urchins faces before the kick had came, full of maliciousness, spite and unrestrained _glee._ It wasn’t different at all, not in the slightest, but instead of waving a cane at a horse, they were waving it at _him._

 

He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before, but then again, he hadn’t know what he had been seeing until then.

 

He put them all to work regardless of the unknown perpetrators, the pace swift and taxing. He had the worst of the smirkers launder the horse blankets despite their complaints of the cold, and the rest frantically grooming the horses and scrubbing the stalls out between the cabbies comings and goings.

 

He lit several braziers around the stable to keep the place warm, as angry as he was he didn’t want anyone to catch their death. He hovered over the stable boys work, keeping his eye glued to their progress, even though his usually iron grip on the schedule suffered for it.

 

They seemed to realise something was wrong, or at least different, and an odd quiet settled over them. The boys whispered to each other, watching him from the corners of their eyes as they worked, more diligent and swift than he had ever seen them. The snickers faded completely as the day wore on, and they grew nervous and shifty under his shadow.

 

He had never seen them behave so strangely before, and it was becoming unsettling. He knew that some employers would cane child workers for much less than this. He had never done so, even if he had the legal right to, he hadn’t the stomach for such a thing. He had never done so much as acknowledge the fact that he _could_. He had given them no reason for this odd reaction, and yet they feared anyway. Or at least it appeared that way, Lauchlan had never seen them this way before and he had no frame of reference beyond their usual mischief, or perhaps it was more like malice? Lauchlan didn’t trust himself to know the difference anymore.

 

The day crawled by at a snails pace, Lauchlan snappish and twitchy as he worried over suicidal children and spooked horses. He sequestered the two clydesdales away, and kept them from work by citing a problem with their digestion. It was bought easily enough. They twitched and shied away from the stable boys, even when they pitched hay into the stalls, but they didn’t seem overtly afraid, and Lauchlan hoped that a days or two of quiet would be all they needed. He felt he needed it, more than anyone, but he knew that he wouldn’t have peace until he did something to ensure that yesterday’s events would never happen again.

 

When the sun finally slunk low into the sky, heralding the end of the day, Lauchlan let himself into the little foreman’s office. It was a cramped, stuffy little space, the walls lined with overfilled filing cabinets the rest of the room filled by a creaky old desk and chair. The company safe was bricked into the wall, the accounts book sitting nearby waiting for Lauchlan to fill it in with the various earnings and expenses of the day. Lauchlan picked up the heavy ledger and thumbed through it, skimming over the notations until he found the entry he was looking for. It was a small note, detailing the withdrawal and payment of a modest sum as a deposit for services rendered, and a note of the amount to be payed after said services were complete. Lauchlan noted down the names of the recipients on a spare scrap of paper, and then flipped the accounts book shut and dug the staff ledger out of the filing cabinets and skimmed through the long list of stable boys, past and present. Thankfully, the names he’d noted in the accounts book were indeed real names, and they were found amongst the present staff ledger, but if he knew the boys at all it didn’t mean much. Even if they hadn’t traded names with one another when he had requested them the first time, they very well might do it now.

 

Lauchlan did his best to firm his resolve, trying to banish his fretting from his mind. This was for the good of everyone. He didn’t want anyone hurt because he had chosen not to say something, not to do something when he knew that it needed to be done.

 

Squaring his shoulders, he marched out the little room. The stable was quiet, as the afternoon was dipping into evening and most, if not all, were weary and eager for home again. Resolutely, he cleared his through, and called the names on the paper, asking them to meet them in the office.

 

Every head swivelled around to stare at him, their eyes open in disbelief. Lauchlan fought the urge to squirm beneath the scrutiny, and retreated into the office before they could try to trick him out of it, knowing that it was all too likely that they’d succeed when they had such numbers over his own.

 

Sound erupted outside the door, the boys jostling and arguing with one another. Lauchlan sank into the worn chair and sighed. They were going to pull a stunt again, he knew it, he just _knew it_ , but what on earth could he do about it? He couldn’t do anything to them in good consciousness unless he had proof of who was who, but he couldn’t just let this go either.

 

After a few minutes Lauchlan’s despair was interrupted by the shuffling of feet outside the door. It was followed a jostling and a brief hissed argument. A moment passed and then the door opened, ten grimy stable boys shuffled into the room.

 

A few of them looked genuinely contrite, one had taken off his cap and was fiddling with it, his tangled hair flopping down over his face as he slouched dejectedly, but most seemed rather haughty, their backs straight and their noses in the air. Most of the contrite ones were new boys, a good few years younger than the rest, and Lauchlan could tentatively recognise them. The rest, he wasn’t so sure of.

 

“Shut the door behind you, please,” Lauchlan said.

 

One of the arrogant boys strutted over to it and kicked it shut with his foot, and then rejoined the group, elbowing the other boys aside to get a spot in the centre.

 

Lauchlan frowned at the boy’s manners. Surely his mother had taught him something about basic courtesy? He’d learned to keep his elbows to himself when he was six, and these boys were well past that age, they should know such things by now.

 

“Well, do you know why you’re here?” he asked. It seemed a good a place to start as any, many of his own childhood reprimands had begun as such.

 

The boys shuffled about, meaningful glances passing between them. The dejected boys grew even more dejected, and the arrogant boys puffed themselves up like angry cats as a silent argument was waged. Eventually the elbowing boy seemed to have been elected the spokesperson for the group, and he took a confident stride toward the desk.

 

“Because we couldn’t make it to work the other day,” said the boy.

 

“Yes,” he said, and he waited, but it seemed that explanations weren’t forthcoming. The boys seemed to gloat at the silence, and Lauchlan felt his patience stretching thin beneath their smirks.

 

“Well, why didn’t you come?” asked Lauchlan, his voice tight. He hoped that there really was an adequate reason for it. He knew it was unlikely, but he hoped none the less.

 

The question seemed to startle some of the boys, the dejected boys looking away from him and drawing their shoulders tight, and the arrogant boys blinking rapidly and fidgeting on their feet, new glances firing to and fro. Their spokesperson seemed unperturbed though, and gave a gap toothed grin.

 

“Well _sir,_ the storm came so early that we couldn’t leave the house. We have to all get ‘ere on foot see, and we’d all surely catch the influenza before we even got ‘ere,” drawled the boy, his voice dripping with false sweetness.

 

“But that, no, no that’s impossible,” snapped Lauchlan. He wasn’t sure if the comment about influenza had been a direct jab about Percival or not, but it stung harshly either way. He brutally shoved the memory of those last, terrible rattling breaths aside as he thumbed through the ledger. He checked the dates of the notation again for good measure, and nodded in satisfaction.

 

“You were told to be here on the Sunday the ninth, the storm didn’t set in fully till the tenth,” said Lauchlan, turning the book about and pointing to the notation, but then thought better of it and put it aside. Most of the boys were illiterate and he didn’t want to make things worse by lording that over them.

 

The boy’s paled, and they muttered audibly amongst themselves, jostling and squabbling with each other, even the dejected ones hissing comments. Lauchlan’s attention was mostly focussed on the elbowing boy, who had blanched and was grinding his teeth as he stared down at the closed ledger.

 

“Are you saying that I’m a liar?” barked the boy, puffing himself up even larger than he’d been before, jutting his chest out like a fattened pigeon, his skinny arms quivering and his hands closing into fists.

 

Lauchlan stared at the boy, his face open in it’s disbelief. What on earth did the child think he was proving? What was to be gained by this? If he was trying to play another trick then any credibility he held had just flown out the window.

 

The boy surged forward, the other boys grabbed him by the elbows and tried to pull him back, but he struggled free to loom back over the desk as best the child could. The result was less than intimidating.

 

Lauchlan stared helplessly at the boy, confused and horrified. Was this, was this all that he had achieved? He had tried so hard to be kind; to be forgiving and honest with them, to earn their trust, their respect, and this was the result? The child clearly thought him an idiot at best, a gutless coward at worst, if he thought that this, this _display_ , would result in anything good.

 

“Well, would you like to tell me the truth instead?” Lauchlan asked, measuring his words carefully. There was nothing to gain by getting angry with him, but this behaviour was grating at every nerve he had.

 

“Please sir, he doesn’t mean it,” said one of the other boys, the hatless one, his eyes wide and pleading. He clutched his cap before him in a white knuckled grip.

 

“I’m not so sure of that,” Lauchlan said, softly. At least someone in here knew his manners, for what little it was worth. He tried to force a reassuring smile onto his face for the boy, but could manage only a grimace, so he turned back to the elbower. The boy had been dragged back from the desk, but seemed two steps from a tantrum.

 

“I, I, you,” the boy spluttered, his shouts quieting as the other boys tugged him back.

 

Lauchlan raised his eyebrows, and the boy exploded.

 

“You never ask, you never ask! I’m not even Finch!” he spluttered.

 

Lauchlan glanced down at the note he’d taken, a bit confused, and found Harold Finch amongst the names there.

 

“Well, is your name James Fletcher then?” Lauchlan asked.

 

“No, that’s me,” said one of the arrogant boys, though he seemed much less arrogant now. He was holding onto the boy who wasn’t named Finch, who elbowed him at the admission.

 

“Alright, how about Edward Gould?”

 

“Me sir,” said the younger boy, raising his hand so tentatively it was as if he expected it to be bitten off.

 

Lauchlan nodded reassuringly and went through the remaining names. The other seven children readily laid claim to their names, all except the boy who wasn’t named Finch, who grew redder and redder in the face with every name spoken.

 

“Well, if you aren’t Harold Finch, why did you come here when I called for him?” he asked gently. He thought it possible that the other boys had intended to play the name-swapping trick again, but then they’d abandoned the plan and left the boy to flounder. Given how the fool child had exploded so, it was probably a wise decision, but that didn’t mean that he was the only one to blame.

 

The boy who was not named Finch worked his jaw silently, his face beet red and his arms trembling.

 

“Did you all plan to play one of your tricks again? I know about the game you like to play, but it’s hardly fair to abandon your friend to the wolves,” he said, gathering up a modicum of sympathy for the boy. He’d be upset if he had his trust broken so, but that didn’t excuse the boy’s foolishness and arrogant manner.

 

“We’re not sir, we’re really not. My name really is Gould, and he really is Finch. There’s no trick, I swear,” said the hatless boy, imploring him with his open, desperate expression.

 

“Alright,” he said, softly to the boy. He felt sympathy for the child; he seemed honestly upset and desperate to keep his job. If there had ever been a plan to play the trick again, it must have been abandoned long before these boys reached the office.

 

“So tell me, why couldn’t you come?” he asked.

 

The young boy’s face reddened, and he lowered his eyes, silent. Lauchlan waited and was disappointed to find that there was still no answer coming. He turned his eye back to Finch.

 

“Well? You aren’t leaving here without giving me a reason,” he snapped, his patience fraying by he moment. He needed some kind of explanation, and the longer it took to come, the more it seemed that it did not exist. Surely the children had to have had some kind of excuse, he thought he’d done a good enough job at instilling responsibility in them for them to just shirk like this.

 

Finch growled, and glanced furtively around him, but the other children refused to meet his eyes.

 

“I didn’t come because I didn’t want to, you, you had no right to make me!” The boy growled in a convincingly threatening manner, but after spending so much time in Corbin’s company it held little to no weight at all. Lauchlan half expected the idiot boy to start stamping his fleet and flailing his arms about like a toddler at any moment.

 

“I did not make you do anything. You volunteered for it, you all did. Do you have any idea what the consequences of your absence could have been?” Lauchlan spat, his anger rising. The animals need to be cared for first and foremost, without them they’d all be on the streets, and this boy threw his responsibilities away just because he felt like it? He’d never heard of such an irresponsible, foolish thing in all his life. Had the boy no shame?

 

“Nothing, nothing went wrong sir,” said one of the other boys. Lauchlan turned to glare at him, and the child shrank ashamedly beneath his gaze.

 

“You can thank your lucky stars for that, do you want to end up in the factories, the poorhouse? Because that’s where you’re headed at this rate, and you’ll be dragging all of your friends along with you. Those animals are our livelihood. A week without proper care could have crippled them, if not outright killed them. Just be glad I found other help, otherwise we may well be having this conversation out in the streets,” Lauchlan spat, his shoulders trembling with outrage, hardly believing what he was hearing.

 

He heard a scoff, and he whipped his head around to see who had voiced it. Most of the boys avoided his gaze, the others simply raised their chins and crossed their arms.

 

“You, do you think I’m exaggerating?” asked Lauchlan.

 

There was silence, but their staunch refusal to meet his eye told him all he needed to know.

 

“It was only a week, sir,” said Finch, his lip curling as he voiced the honorific.

 

"It was nine days, in total, and even then, it was thought it may to last up to two weeks, not one,” Lauchlan snapped.

 

The boys expressions didn’t change, so Lauchlan ploughed on.

 

“Think about it child. Two weeks with no food, no heat and no fresh water would kill a boy like you, no question. But even if the horses survived that, there’d be no one to clean them. Can you imagine the indignity of it? Can you imagine spending two weeks up to your ankles in your own waste, with no way to get out, no way to get clean?”

 

The boys blanched, and some of them looked positively green. Finch steeled his eyes and looked ready to object, but Lauchlan wasn’t finished yet.

 

“Not to mention that if we get sick, we have people to help us. If you hurt yourself you can lay up in bed and get well again. If the horses develop a problem with their hooves, anything that stops them from pulling a hansom, they don’t get a warm bed and a spoonful of cod liver oil. They’re taken to knackery and shot. Thanks to you, every horse in this stable might have met that fate, and where would that leave all of us? On the street is where,” Lauchlan fumed, a fury he’d not realised he’d been harbouring came rushing outward. He angrily crossed and recrossed his arms against his chest, and leaned back in his chair, feeling suddenly exhausted.

 

The boys blanched, and Finch shut his trap, the smug expression finally falling from his face as his cohorts glared daggers into his back.

 

One of the young boys, Gould, timidly approached the front of the desk, hat in hand, eyes downcast.

 

“I’m sorry sir, I swear I didn’t think that...” the boy’s sentence trailed off, and he stared at his hat as if salvation would come leaping out of it. He was trembling pitifully, and Lauchlan thought that the boy looked ready to burst into tears.

 

Lauchlan sighed, his fury dying. The children’s actions were wrong, but in the end it had been for the best. If he and Corbin had been discovered, well, he didn’t want to imagine what would come of that. Those few days they spent alone together had been precious, and as much as he wanted to instil responsibility into the boys, he couldn’t hold onto enough of his anger to turn them out into the cold.

 

“It’s alright. We were all lucky, but I don’t want anything like this to happen ever again.”

 

The younger boys agreed hastily, murmuring heartfelt thanks and further apologies. The older boys smirked.

 

“So, you’re going to have to work nine days without payment to account for the days you decided to skip” Lauchlan said, steeling himself for the outrage.

 

The outrage came. The older boys clamouring to rebuke their punishment, while the younger boys went pale. The Gould boy really did burst into tears, though he struggled valiantly to contain himself.

 

“Please sir, I have rent due next week!” cried the boy.

 

Lauchlan felt his heart twinge at the boys distress, there was a new month Sunday next, and with the storm disrupting business the poorer folk must have been in a very tight place financially, given that they had nothing to fall back on even in the best of times. Lauchlan had to wonder why the boy hadn’t bothered to actually work during those nine days if he had things so hard, but he doubted he’d understand the foolish children’s reasoning at any rate.

 

“Alright, alright. In that case you can work nine days at half pay, but that’s all I will do,” Lauchlan said, and the boys cries softened.

 

Lauchlan rubbed his forehead as the rest roared into conversation, spinning laughable sob stories in the hope of reducing the sentence yet again, the Finch boy silently fuming and glowering, but Lauchlan had had enough. He just didn’t understand these children. It was beyond him, utterly beyond him.

 

He dismissed them, and most were content to storm out, the other boys that waited outside loudly chattering and begging for gossip, but Gould lingered behind.

 

“Do you need something else?” Lauchlan asked tiredly. He’d had more enough of children today, and he was aching just to flop back in his chair become absorbed in the bookwork. That, at least, was comprehensible.

 

“I just wanted to say thankyou. I need, I really need this work,” sniffled the boy, wiping his eyes with the cloth of his cap, leaving a dirty smear on it.

 

Lauchlan sighed again, feeling a headache throbbing behind his temples.

 

“If you need the work so badly, why didn’t you come here and do the work you were assigned to?” Lauchlan asked, though he didn’t expect an honest answer.

 

The boy sniffled louder, and he glanced furtively at the door, fidgeting on his feet.

 

“It’s Finch, he scares me. He scares all of us,” he whispered, his eyes flicking between Lauchlan to the door.

 

“He did seem rather recalcitrant yes, but that’s no excuse to pass up on your obligations, especially when you’ve been paid an advance,” Lauchlan said. It was gratifying to know that at least one of the boys had a genuine reason, but it hardly excused him when he must have decided not to attend well before the storm came.

 

“He, he’s not, he told me to stay at home, and that if I came to work he and his friends would hit me. He, he, he took my pay packet,” the boy squeaked, shying away from the door.

 

Lauchlan sat bolt upright in his chair, eye widening in shock.

 

“He stole from you? When?” Lauchlan asked urgently.

 

The boy wavered a moment, but leant across the desk, keeping his voice low.

 

“The advance you gave us. He, he and his friends caught me when I was walking home, and they took it. He, he said that he took everyone else’s too,” he whispered.

 

Lauchlan gaped, his headache throbbing forebodingly. He ran his hands over his face and groaned. This, this was worse than incomprehensible. The stable boys had always seemed like some sort of great, communal thing, interdependent and hive minded. He had never thought, never even considered that they would do such things to each other, and it made sense, so much more sense than the boys just skiving off when they wanted to. But that still begged the question, if the Finch boy had wanted the money for himself, why on earth hadn’t he _worked_ for it? He would have made another eight days wages on top of what he’d stolen, and thief or not, there was no conceivable reason not to. He couldn’t have believed that no one would object to his skiving. He’d never have gotten away from that scot free, but then again, if not for Corbin, he just might have managed it.

 

Christ, how could he ever have been so _blind?_ Corbin had taken their measure without even setting eye on the lot of them. The man would laugh if he knew how right he was.

 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner? If not me, you could have gone to the police, surely” he said.

 

Gould’s eyes widened and he shook his head rapidly.

 

“The police wouldn’t listen to people like us, they think we’re trying to con them,” said the boy.

 

“Then why not say something to me? I’d fire him. I don’t want people like that working here,” Lauchlan said, reaching across the desk to give the boy a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

 

The boy looked down, trembling.

 

“He, he, he said that you don’t care about any of us, so long we do what you say and the work gets done and he said he’d mug us if we said anything” he said.

 

Lauchlan blanched, his heart sinking. So, after all these years _this_ was all his work had amounted to. What on earth had he done wrong? He had tried so hard for so long just to earn a little respect, but it seemed he may as well be completely ornamental.

 

Lauchlan tried to quash his own shame, but it was a stubborn emotion and it clung to him, stinging in the corner of his eye and tightening in his throat.

 

He stood up, circled around the desk and clasped the child by his shoulders.

 

“Now listen, that’s not going to go on anymore. Finch and his friends are on probation now, and I won’t tolerate that sort of behaviour. The next time he steps out of line, or tries to steal from you, you come straight to me. Tell your friends and anyone else that Finch bothers to do the same, alright? The next thing he pilfers will be the last, I promise,” Lauchlan said, in what he hoped was an authoritative tone.

 

“Yes, yes sir!” said the boy, and he cracked a smile, crooked white teeth gleaming in a face full of grime, and the boy was off like a fire cracker, darting from the room and out onto the stable proper.

 

Lauchlan looked into the empty space where the boy had been, his head reeling. He stumbled back to flop into the office chair, which creaked in indignity.

 

He rubbed his forehead, his head throbbing wearily, and dragged the ledger toward him. He struggled to immerse himself in the bookwork, the accounting a cathartic distraction, but the distraction wasn’t to last forever.

 

He closed up the stable for the day without acknowledging the boys, which they didn’t seem to mind, as they swarmed away from his path and fled the stable as soon as he called for the nightly lock up.

 

He had much on his mind when he made the walk home, and nothing to distract him from the weight of it.

 

The behaviour of the boys was obscene, unforgivable, and there was no way it could have built up to all this overnight. This, this had to have been years in the making. The Finch boy looked to be fourteen at the least, and the company never hired anyone older than ten, younger was better, so he had no doubt that this had been going on right under his nose for at least four years, if not even longer.

 

Percival had always run a tight ship when he had been in charge. There had been none of this malicious pranking and certainly no thievery. Lauchlan hadn’t been liked by any of the other boys, but there hadn’t been any threats or bids for his hard earned pay packet. The boys had respected Percival, obeying him and striving for his approval, even if that meant coexisting with Lauchlan the Interloper. And here he was, too blind to see what was going on under his own nose until someone came along and shoved his face into it. This Finch boy and who knew how many others were preying upon on each other, terrorising those smaller and weaker than themselves at the expense of anything and everyone else. Lauchlan may as well not be there at all.

 

Percival would be turning in his grave.

 

Lauchlan curled up in bed early that night, his appetite gone, and lay awake for the longest time. Vagabond curled up on his chest, and he stroked her absentmindedly as his guilt gnashed at him.

 

Percival had taught him so much, opened doors to him that he’d never have managed alone, and this was how he honoured his memory? By letting what he had worked for fall into shambles? The old man’s gift deserved so much more, so much _better_. But Lauchlan hadn’t even noticed that things were falling to pieces beneath his nose.

 

He considered, for a brief moment, that he should look for other employment, but quashed the idea. He’d yet to take on an apprentice, and retiring without a successor would only make things worse.

 

But nothing else he could think of had any chance of rectifying the gravity of his mistake.

 

His thoughts circled for hours before he fell into the quiet embrace of sleep, and the morning came far too soon.

 

He dragged himself through his paces, step by step until he found himself at the stables gates again, and tried and failed to suppress his writhing, smothering shame as he went through the morning routine.

 

Around mid morning, one of the boys smiled at him as he walked by. Lauchlan had turned his head toward the sound of chatter, and caught the boy’s eye quite by accident. The boy had looked at him, cracked a grin, and gone back to his task.

 

Lauchlan stared at the back of the boy’s head for a moment, mystified. Normally the boys were only seemed quite that happy to see him on payday, and that wasn’t till the end of the week yet, and after the disaster yesterday he thought that the boys would be avoiding him, which most did, yet some seemed to be more cheerful than he’d ever witnessed.

 

The day wore on, and those same boys persisted in their uncharacteristic cheer. It seemed that the cheery ones were all rather young, around the same age as Gould, and Lauchlan assumed them to be friends of the boy. It was the only reasonable explanation.

 

It seemed a good sign, and it was a relief to know that at least Gould had enough trust in him to spread the word around.

 

He tried to keep an eye on Finch, but the older children kept their heads down, refusing to acknowledge him any more than necessary. The resentment was palpable, and Lauchlan wondered how he had never realised the implications of it. The schism between the boys had never been quite so obvious as it was now, but it was clear that it had always been there. The eldest boys rallied together, forming tightly guarded cliques where as the younger ones seemed more evenly scattered, and they avoided the packs as much as possible.

 

Finch seemed the most aggressive of the lot, though Lauchlan had the dreadful suspicion that he was seeing him at his most subdued. The recalcitrant child shoved and glowered over the other children, most of the boys half his size, and smirked and sneered whenever he caught Lauchlan watching, brazen as you please.

 

The younger boys though, seemed grateful, enthusiastic in a way he hadn’t seen before, and as day made way for night, it remained constant and though they grumbled, there had been no sign of them acting out quite yet.

 

He had no doubt that that would change, however. He’d allowed this to fester for far too long, and one stern talking to wasn’t going to cut it. He hadn’t the stomach for corporal punishment, though he knew of others that doled it out like sweets. Pay docking clearly wasn’t enough, and the only alternative was to throw the children out onto the street and hoped they learned a lesson by the time they came crawling back. _If_ they came crawling back, that was. If the boys tempers ran half as high as Finch’s he doubted they’d be humble enough to beg repentance, no matter how badly they may need it.

 

It was worrying, Lauchlan didn’t want to damn anyone to the poorhouse, or worse, because he hadn’t the sense to nip the problem in the bud, as Percival would have, no doubt. But what else could be done? The boys would see empty threats for what they were, and he couldn’t just stand by and watch the children hurt each other.

 

He’d just give the children one more chance. Give himself one more chance to fix what he’d broken. They deserved that much, and if they squandered it, he’d make good on his word.

 

Corbin had been right. The stable boys didn’t appreciate what their position really meant for them, what it offered them, and their actions not only made things worse for themselves, but they dragged honest children like Gould down with them. Letting them go would gain more than what was lost, but that didn’t make the thought of letting a child go hungry on the streets any easier to handle.

 

Lauchlan sighed, and tried to gather what remained of his nerve. He’d made his bed and he’d bloody well lay in it if he had to.

 

This had to end, one way or another, for everyone’s sake.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people, I hope you’ve enjoyed this one. It gave me no end of trouble, though I must thank a friend of mine from RL who helped me proofread while my usual beta is tied up, even if he did add “and then he died” to the end of several paragraphs. See you with the next installment.


	9. Adding Insult to Injury

 

The past few days had been a very long trial on his patience.

 

The boys had been contrite for a little while but when they realised he wasn’t going to rescind their punishment for a single day of good behaviour, they became obnoxiously vocal in their discontent, as if Lauchlan was soft enough to be cowed by the demands of fourteen year old children. He’d heard no talk of mischief from Finch though, so he hoped at least that part of his reprimand had sunk in.

 

Improvement or no, listening to their whining and watching them for misbehaviour was exhausting. He’d never been quite so happy to come home to find a hot meal and a soft chair waiting for him.

 

He was cleaning his dinner plate in the scullery when somebody rapped at the front door. He paused, wondering who would be knocking so late in the evening. Theresa seldom stopped by after supper and she knew to let herself in through the scullery when she needed to. He’d even had a key cut for her. He hurried up to the landing, shaking his hands dry as he went.

 

He took a moment to turn down his sleeves and straighten himself out, touching the soft felting of his eye patch for reassurance. The person rapped at the door again, sharp and impatiently. Lauchlan unlatched it and pulled it inward.

 

It was Corbin. He was shifting from foot to foot on the doorstep, no doubt trying to keep warm. Sleet was pattering steadily down, a stiff breeze driving it at just the right angle to infiltrate the upturned collar of Corbin’s overcoat and soak him through. His eyes were downcast, staring at the step as he worried at his chill reddened lip with his teeth.

 

“Corbin, what are you... come in, come in,” he aborted the question as soon as he realised he’d voiced it. He knew why Corbin was here, he’d said as much. Though it was still surprising he’d come so soon, he’d expected to wait another month or so like before. He swung the door open and took a step back, ushering Corbin inside.

 

Corbin startled at the sound of his voice but masked the expression quickly. He scraped his shoes on the step and bustled in past him, slush patting onto the carpet from his sodden overcoat. He toed off his shoes, leaving them on the rack and unbuttoning his coat.

 

Lauchlan latched the door against the miserable weather and turned to help Corbin, holding up the collar with one hand and helping him shrug off the sleeves with the other. It was freezing cold to the touch, and a good pound or so heavier than it should have been thanks to the damp. The poor man must have been chilled to the bone.

 

“You didn’t walk all this way, did you?” Lauchlan asked. He wasn’t in as poor of a state as he was the last time they’d met, but the weather was still foul, and he could see him shivering beneath his woollen pullover.

 

“I had business in town, I took the tram in,” Corbin said, his eyes darting away from him.

 

It didn’t do much to ease Lauchlan’s worry, and he ushered Corbin into the front parlour. Corbin seemed amused by the fussing, both eyebrows quirking up and one corner of his mouth gently curling into a smile. Lauchlan manoeuvred the two of them to a stop in front of the smouldering fire, belatedly realising that he’d forgotten to hang Corbin’s coat on the hook. He draped the garment over the armrest of one of his chairs and pushed it close to the fire, hoping it looked as if he had meant to bring it.

 

Corbin flopped down onto the settee, his clothes dampening the cushions the moment they were touched. He sighed, and seemed content to melt into the upholstery.

 

Vagabond flicked up her ears at the sound, rousing from sleep to inspect the interloper who had dared to sit beside her. Her yellow eyes raked over him thoroughly before flicking away. She stood, her head held high and hackles fluffed up. She flexed her legs out one by one and circled round her side of the settee. She batting his side twice with her bottlebrush tail before settling down in the very same spot she’d left.

 

“I didn’t know you had a cat,” said Corbin, mildly interested as he watched her knead the cushion and steadfastly ignore his presence.

 

“I don’t, well, not really” said Lauchlan.

 

“Well in that case I hate to tell you, but you seem to have an infestation of strays,” Corbin said with a jovial laugh. He reached out to pet her, and she snarled in her throat, her claws sinking into the abused upholstery. Corbin was undaunted by the display and gently stroked her back regardless. Grudgingly she allowed him to stroke her, calming considerably when she realised how skilled he was at the task.

 

“Just the one, and she earns her keep,” said Lauchlan, the amusement catching. He leaned against the mantle, smiling as the old alley queen accepted Corbin’s affection as if it were a most arduous chore. She flexed her claws, kneading madly at the cushion and butting her head into Corbin’s hand even as she flashed her fangs.

 

Now that he could see him in the gaslight, he seemed exhausted. There were dark bags beneath his eyes and his limbs were sagging as if the weight of his sodden clothing was too great to carry.

 

“I could draw you a hot bath, if you’d like. You look like you could stand to get out of those wet things,” Lauchlan said, his worry piquing once again.

 

Corbin looked up, surprised by the question, and frowned as he to mulled it over. Vagabond mewled when he ceased petting her, and he scratched behind her ears, absentmindedly.

 

“That would be nice, actually,” Corbin said, his fingers drifting from their task once again. Vagabond decided that she’d had enough of the inattention and leapt up onto the armrest. She levelled a glare at the two of them through the corner of her eye, and began stiffly grooming a paw.

 

“Alright then, just give me a few minutes to start the water heating.”

 

He thought enough to toss another log onto the small fire before he trotted out of the sitting room and started up the stairs.

 

“Hang on, I’ll help,” Corbin called as Lauchlan was halfway up.

 

Lauchlan stalled, flattered and a little surprised by the offer.

 

“That’s not necessary, it shouldn’t take too long,” Lauchlan replied. Corbin appeared at the bottom of the stairwell, bedraggled as ever. He gazed up at him, one eyebrow cocked.

 

He ignored the expression and turned on his heel, padding down the corridor and letting himself into the unassuming little bathroom tucked away at the end of it, shivering as he stepped from warm carpet covered floorboards to cold slate tile.

 

It was a small but very clean room, nautical in its ability to cram so much in the space without being claustrophobic. The walls were painted a warm shade of creamy grey, dotted by a few brass ventilation grates just beneath the crown moulding, the floor clad with black slate tiles, scrubbed and polished to a bluish shine. There was water basin set on the surface of a tile topped cabinet, tucked to the left of the doorway, a speckled mirror mounted on the wall above it and cream linen towels folded neatly in the cabinet beneath. A large copper bathtub dominated the room, filling nearly a third of it. It was narrow but very deep, the sloping headrest was as high as Lauchlan’s hip, its sides tapering down to a flat base in an elegant curve, plumbing hidden away beneath the flooring. To this day Lauchlan had no idea how Percival managed to get the thing installed without demolishing two walls just to get into the room, yet alone how he’d managed to get something as lavish as inbuilt plumbing without having to tear up half the house. It was hard to believe that it wasn’t even the most extravagant part of the little room.

 

The contraption to hold that particular honour was tucked in the corner between bath and the basin, concealed by a beaten copper screen. He stood in the bath, there being no other convenient way to access it, and folded the screen away. The device resembled a miniature water tower, which in essence it was. The body of it was an imposing cast iron barrel, enamelled white, and supported on four sturdy legs with a hatch at the front, opening like a cupboard. Inside was a great corkscrew of copper pipes curling around a central gas powered flame, or at least the valves and burners needed to sustain one.

 

“What is that supposed to do?” Corbin said, his voice echoing against the tile.

 

Lauchlan jumped at the sound, whirling to face him before he managed to convince himself to calm down. Corbin was staring, not at him, but at the inner workings of the device.

 

“It’s water heater,” said Lauchlan, fiddling with the many inner valves of the device and trying to concentrate. It was important to check that all the release valves were open, otherwise the thing could spring a leak or break apart, and he doubted he could afford to repair it if it did.

 

Corbin padded into his blindside, no doubt watching him, and Lauchlan tried not to let it affect him. It couldn’t be helped, there was nowhere else for him to stand after all, but still his nerves gripped at him, setting his teeth on edge. His expression sculpted into neutrality, Lauchlan screwed another valve into its proper position and turned, putting Corbin comfortably within his line of sight.

 

“Would you mind passing me a matchbook? There should be a couple in the cupboard under the washbasin,” he said, wilfully ignoring the fact that he had a perfectly good book in his trouser pocket. He needed a minute to wrangle his paranoia back into submission.

 

Corbin hummed in agreement, and turned to do as he’d been asked. He crouched down to push aside the towels. Lauchlan’s eye wandered unbidden, the memories of Corbin curled in his embrace leaping to the forefront of his mind.

 

Corbin straightened, and Lauchlan jerked his eye away, feeling much too aware of the heat in his cheeks.

 

“Here,” Corbin said, apparently none the wiser as he extended the matchbook.

 

“Thankyou,” said Lauchlan, a little too tersely, and Corbin cocked an eyebrow at him.

 

His cheeks blazed hotter, and Lauchlan cursed his fair skin as he turned his attention back the heater. He struck the match against the waterspout and brought it to the burner, twisting the gas valve open. A circle of tall, yellow flames popped into existence, and he let it flicker merrily for a moment before taking the match away and shaking it out. He fiddled with the valves until the flames eased into a steady blue cone.

 

“Must be a nice not having to carry buckets around all the time,” said Corbin, his tone oddly reserved.

 

“It’s wonderful. The last thing I want to do at the end of the day is more heavy labour. It’s one less thing on my plate, and it keeps the bathroom nice and warm too,” said Lauchlan, hoping he didn’t sound too pleased with himself. It really was a decadent thing, especially when the weather was harsh and cold and he came home smelling of horses and the waste that accompanied them. The act of dragging bucket after bucket of water from the pump, to the stove, to the bath was enough to tip him from tired to exhausted in the past, and having to get out of a lukewarm bath into a freezing cold scullery in the dead of winter could make the whole experience sour. Now at least he had the energy and time to do a little house keeping, put his feet up and read a little before he collapsed into bed. He carefully clamped the hatch shut, and muttered “excuse me” as he blindly stepped out of the tub, relieved to see Corbin obligingly return to his sighted side.

 

He turned on the taps, the geyser unleashing an almighty gurgle before it did a steady flow of water, still icy cold. He let it flow for a little while, taking away any dirt he may have left before plugging the drain. He didn’t worry about turning off the tap, once the geyser started working its magic the water would come out scalding, and by the time the immense tub filled the combination of the two would be just about right.

 

“It’s going to take a while to fill,” said Lauchlan, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. He’d forgotten that Corbin would have to wait. He should have insisted Corbin stay down by the fire. He could well freeze if he had to sit up here and wait for the tub, and that would take almost half an hour.

 

Corbin hummed again. Lauchlan spared a glance to him. He was shivering, though less so now than before, and he was staring into the bath, his eyes hooded and far away.

 

“I can lend you some of my clothes if you want, that way we can dry those things out,” said Lauchlan, gently nudging him. It was odd, seeing him so quiet. He was beginning to worry that he was hypothermic again.

 

“Mhm? Oh, actually, that would be all right. Wait ‘till after though,” Corbin said, seeming to snap out of his trance. He waved noncommittally, and nudged him back in kind.

 

Corbin turned to face him, leaning his hips against the bath, and propping his wrists against the rim of it. He looked up at Lauchlan, eyes lazily travelled over him, his tongue slowly wetting his lips.

 

Lauchlan’s face heated, his thoughts stuttering as his eye trained itself on Corbin’s lips, remembering the sight of them wrapped around his cock and _sucking._ He shuddered and took a step back, tugging his collar open. Now was not the time, Corbin needed the warming up and as much as he’d probably tout it, intercourse would not help with that.

 

“I can, uh, lend you my razor as well, if you want,” he muttered lamely, desperate to strike up some kind of conversation. His eye had drifted to Corbin’s jaw, and his cheeks had looked a little more hispid than usual. It had been the first thing to pop into his head.

 

“Oh, is that a hint now?” Corbin gasped in mock offence, and Lauchlan’s embarrassed flush deepened.

 

“No, I just, I just thought that I’d... I‘m just terrible at making small talk,” Lauchlan muttered, mortified.

 

“I’ll say,” chuckled Corbin, his eyes glinted mirthfully, suppressing a bout of laughter so tenacious that his belly fluttered, though the general tone of it evaded his clutches “In fact, I think that you actually need that razor much more that I do,” he said, biting into his bottom lip in a bit to oppress his smirk.

 

“Why?” he asked. He’d made a habit of shaving every morning, and an explorational sweep of his fingers across his jaw found only clean-shaven skin.

 

“Well,” Corbin began, he surged upward, and suddenly he was right in front of him, their chests almost touching, “This one,” he reached up and tugged gently at the little patch of hair on Lauchlan’s jaw, just in front of his ear, “is much smaller than this one,” Corbin’s other arm darted up to right side of his face and gave his other sideburn a much quicker tug than the other had been given, and then retreated before the paranoia could grip him. “I don’t know how I didn’t notice it sooner,” Corbin said, his cheeks flushing from his suppressed laughter.

 

“You’re joshing,” Lauchlan pleaded, his cheeks flaming.

 

“No,” Corbin said, a chuckle escaping him.

 

Lauchlan groaned and put his hand to his face. This was just his luck.

 

“Well thank you for pointing it out, then,” Lauchlan grumbled.

 

“The pleasure was mine,” Corbin said, his laughter quelled but his amusement still shining through.

 

Lauchlan glanced over Corbin into the mirror to eye his facial hair. From the front it looked fine, and by touch it felt no larger, but there had to be something wrong with it.

 

“Don’t you believe me?” asked Corbin, he padded to Lauchlan’s right hand side, his reflection filling what room was left in the mirror’s surface.

 

“I believe you, I just can’t see it,” grumbled Lauchlan, trying his best not to whine.

 

“Just look,” Corbin said. He reached out, gripping Lauchlan’s chin and tilting the right half of his face toward the mirror. Lauchlan’s belly clenched at the unwelcome contact, his blind half swallowing up their reflections as his head was titled and exposing his neck and side. He made an embarrassing, squeaking noise of protest, his hand flying up and grasping Corbin by the elbow. Corbin seemed to realise and he roughly tilted Lauchlan’s face back to its original position and released him before Lauchlan could readjust himself. Lauchlan reeled, leaning heavily on the basin. He stared into his reflection’s eye as he fought back a crippling wave of nausea.

 

Corbin had the decency to look rather sheepish, stuffing his hands into his sodden pockets.

 

“It’s thicker on that side,” Corbin said, after a good minute of awkward silence. He raised a hand, holding his thumb and forefinger a half inch apart to emphasise his point.

 

“Don’t ever do that again,” Lauchlan wheezed.

 

Corbin’s reflection winced, and Lauchlan immediately regretted his choice of words. There was no need to be cruel.

 

“I try not to be paranoid, Corbin, I just... you just can’t shove me around like that. I’ll go to the barbers to get it seen to, alright?” he said, squirming with embarrassment.

 

“How much longer is that going to take?” Corbin asked, nodding his head toward the bath.

 

Lauchlan’s heart sunk. They’d been having a somewhat pleasant conversation for once, albeit at his expense, and he’d gone and spoiled it again.

 

He checked on the tub. The pipes were gurgling steadily, the water pouring from the spout hot and steaming.

 

“I’d give it twenty minutes,” he murmured, resigning himself to another night of clipped conversation, if that.

 

“If you fetch that razor, I wouldn’t mind evening you out,” Corbin said, voice soft and low.

 

Lauchlan stilled. He couldn’t see Corbin’s face, hunched over the tub as he was, but that had sounded like an olive branch reaching his way. He touched his right cheek nervously. His fingers traced over old, faded scars, knowing them by texture better than sight. It had turned his stomach when Corbin had kissed him on his scarred cheek, and now he was asking to bring a blade to it? Lauchlan trusted him, but not that much. No, better the barber. The old man was always kind enough to let him in after business hours and give him the privacy needed to remove his patch and shave himself using a couple of his mirrors. He still payed the man of course, but that was beside the point.

 

“I can just go to the barber,” he said, standing and turning around to face Corbin. Corbin’s eyes met his the moment he rose.

 

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Lauchlan.”

 

Lauchlan bodily flinched remembering the shameful, foolish morning and touched the cloth of the patch, needing to know it was there.

 

“I wish you hadn’t,” he muttered.

 

“Well you know what they say about wishes and horses,” pressed Corbin, unperturbed.

 

“I have plenty of horses already, I feel I’m rich as things are,” said Lauchlan, shrugging.

 

Corbin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He perched on the side of the tub, rubbing his forehead, his brow creased in frustration. He passed his hand over his face, passing down his angular jaw line and brushing through his bushy sideburns before sweeping downwards and curling into a loose fist, so that he could rest his chin upon his knuckles. He wet his lips idly. A moment later his expression lightened, and he looked up to Lauchlan again.

 

“Your, well... let’s call it an aversion,” said Corbin. The word hung heavily between them, and Lauchlan flinched at the choice of it.

 

“Is it the sensation that bothers you, or just that you can’t see anything on that side?” asked Corbin.

 

Lauchlan was flummoxed. He groped desperately for an answer, but he was at a complete and utter loss. It just couldn’t be quantified that way. It was both, and neither, and something completely unrelated all at once.

 

“I, I’m not sure. Both, I think?” Lauchlan said, scratching the nape of his neck and shrugging apologetically.

 

Corbin frowned at that, his chin returning to rest upon his knuckles for a moment before his expression lightened yet again.

 

“Do you have a stool, or a chair small enough to fit in here?” asked Corbin, his eyes alighted like Lauchlan hadn’t seen before, though he couldn’t place the emotion.

 

“Yes... I take it you’d like me to fetch it?” asked Lauchlan.

 

Corbin nodded sliding down from the bath and standing sharply upright, straight backed and square shouldered. Lauchlan was unsure of exactly what he was getting into, but obeyed none the less. He took a small stool from an old dresser set and presented it to him. Corbin took it, and then promptly set it down in front of the cabinet and mirror.

 

“Sit,” Corbin said, his tone sharp and authoritarian.

 

Lauchlan glanced between Corbin and the stool for a moment, wondering what on earth he was getting at. Corbin waved a hand in encouragement, and continued to stare him down until Lauchlan gingerly perched upon it.

 

He always felt uncomfortable on the thing, it was just a little too low and a little too narrow. He had to clench his thighs together and put his weight on his shins and ankles, which in turn forced him to sit ramrod straight, lest he fall off the thing. The posture reminded him of a ball-jointed doll being made to attend a tea party, and he always felt awfully silly for it.

 

Corbin put his hands on Lauchlan’s shoulders, snapping him from his embarrassment. He cupped the good side of his face, guiding his eye to their reflections in the speckled mirror. They were far enough away that they both fit into its frame. Corbin’s head and shoulders filling the upper half while Lauchlan’s peeked into the lower. Corbin smiled, perhaps a little forcefully, and meet Lauchlan’s eye through the mirror’s surface. He cupped his other hand against the right side of his neck, his calloused thumb sweeping up to brush just behind his ear where his eyepatch was tied into place.

 

Lauchlan shuddered, his hands clenching of their own accord and his shoulders pulling tight. The touch was gentle, tender, but his body quaked in barely restrained revulsion none the less. Lauchlan breathed deeply, trying to suck moisture back into his throat and clenched his fingers into the hem of his shirt to stop himself from swatting at Corbin. He centred his gaze on their reflection, watching Corbin’s thumb gently circle round and round in feather light sweeps, and Corbin’s brown eyes holding his gaze in an uncharacteristically soft embrace.

 

“Better?” prompted Corbin, his eyes breaking the contact in the mirror to glance down at his head.

 

Lauchlan swallowed, shakily, and wet his lips. It was difficult to tell, really. It was still terribly uncomfortable, every muscle tense and straining, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation, but the gripping, flailing terror that usually took hold was still waiting patiently at bay. He could feel it gathering in the base of his skull, simmering gently, but not enough to set him off. At least, not yet. Watching what Corbin was doing did seem to ease that particular discomfort.

 

“A little. I’d still prefer it if you didn’t, so could we perhaps...” Corbin interrupted him with a sweep of his fingers, ghosting gently across his cheekbone. Lauchlan flinched away, but Corbin’s other hand was there to catch and hold him, unyielding even as Lauchlan cowered from the unwelcomed touch. He breathed deeply, gulping harsh breaths of air and clenching his fists tighter, fighting against the drive to lash out and run.

 

Corbin’s fingers stopped, and Lauchlan was allowed a moment to adjust to the touch. He knew, instinctively that Corbin’s fingers lay on his scars, and they ached as if in protest. He knew that they could scarcely be seen anymore but damn it all, they were still there, and they stung so keenly that they were as good as raw beneath Corbin’s rough fingertips, no matter how soft his gaze.

 

“Just let me give you a quick shave. It’ll only take a moment,” Corbin asked again. His eyes were soft, but his hands were as strong and steady as a surgeon’s, cupping his face and tenderly holding it captive.

 

Lauchlan struggled to swallow, his throat had gone dry and his heart was thumping in his ears. He could concede one thing though, the mirror made it easier to breathe and centre himself, to control the urge to strike and run and hide.

 

For all his stress and all his cowardice, the offer was alluring. Even in his state he had to admit that the hassle of fitting a visit to the barber shop into his full schedule, and the embarrassment of knowing that he looked odd, and that he was drawing attention to his disfigurement would cost much more than he would be comfortable giving. Corbin had no reason to hurt him, he wouldn’t, Lauchlan knew that. He’d never recover from his groundless, senseless fears unless he tried to trust the man. Besides, he owed Corbin for all he’d done, and he was only trying to be kind.

 

“Give me a moment,” Lauchlan murmured, his voice aquiver.

 

Corbin nodded, one corner of his lips curling upward into a smile, and released him, his hands brushing down his neck and across his broad, stiff shoulders as they retreated.

 

Lauchlan breathed a sigh of relief. He stood, stiff muscles groaning and his joints popping as he straightened his knees once again and awkwardly excused himself.

 

He stood in the landing a moment, leaning against the wall for support, breathing slowly and deeply. He touched his cheek, shakily covering the place where Corbin had touched him. He knew that the pain wasn’t real, that it was merely a trick that his anxiety-ridden consciousness played upon him. But the ache felt as real as it ever had, no matter how he tried to convince himself that it was not so. He took the time to collect himself, flexing the tension from his shoulders and neck, and rallying his heartbeat into a semblance of normalcy.

 

After lingering for as long as he dared to, he tentatively started down the landing to his bedroom. His razor was still on the dresser where he left it. He kept both it and its strop there, as the damp heat of the bathroom could cause the wood of the handle to warp.

 

Upon his return, he found that Corbin had rummaged through the cabinet, and found the shaving soap and brush. He had set them out by the basin and was in the process of mixing a little of the soap into lather. Lauchlan entered, set down the razor and hooked the strop to the cabinet without a word. His nerves were playing tricks with his throat, cinching it tight like a drawstring. He gingerly set himself down on the stool, the wooden legs squeaking against the slate.

 

Corbin fished a sodden hand towel from the steaming water, wrung out the excess and held it out to him. Lauchlan took it and obediently held it across his jaw, grateful to have something to do with his hands.

 

Corbin finished stirring the lather, and Lauchlan took a moment to watch his hands again. It was oddly entrancing, Corbin had a smoothness to his movements he’d not noticed before, not graceful per se, but rather an economy of movement. He seemed to always know what he wanted to do with them and how to do so as easily and fluidly as possible, and he didn’t waste energy fumbling or fidgeting around with them as Lauchlan often did. It would have been very pretty had anyone else been doing it. As it was Corbin though, his hands were far from pretty. Just as the rest of him they had an abundance of dark hair that licked out from under his cuffs and up the backs of his hands and fingers. The palms of his hands and the pads of his fingers were tough and irregular, thickened by rough calluses.

 

Satisfied with the lather, he set the jar down and picked up the razor, folding its blade out in one smooth motion. He touched it gently against his tongue to test its edge, and it bit into the proffered flesh eagerly. Corbin made a sound of surprise, sucking his tongue back into his mouth and rolling his jaw. His cheeks hollowed a little as he sucked on the cut, and he held out the blade and stared at it, turning it over in his hands, though he held it with far more care now than he had before.

 

“You don’t mess about with this, do you,” Corbin muttered, his voice slurred as he nursed his cut tongue.

 

“Well if you’d given me a second I would have warned you,” Lauchlan said, finding it in himself to give a strained chuckle.

 

“Yes I’m sure, I’m sure you would, awfully funny. What on earth do you need a razor this sharp for? You’ve already got a face like a bloody schoolboy’s,” Corbin muttered, rolling his jaw and sucking his tongue every other word.

 

“Well of course I do. What did you think the razor was for? I’d rather that than to follow your example,” Lauchlan shot back, though he regretted the dig as soon as it left his mouth. It was uncalled for, but his nerves were making him even less articulate than usual.

 

“Oh, you’d have to try an awful lot harder than that to end up like this,” Corbin scoffed and rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking up into an affectionate smirk.

 

Lauchlan forced another nervous laugh, grateful that Corbin had taken the prod in good humour.

 

Corbin folded the blade away with a quiet click, and then moved round to take his spot behind him in the mirror. He swallowed nervously, clenching and unclenching his fingers into the damp cloth before Corbin took it away from him. He went back to twisting the hem of his shirt.

 

Corbin folded the towel over one arm and then gently cupped the side of his face again. He ran his fingers up and down the line of his jaw, stroking the bristles downwards and then up the wrong way again, judging how well the towel’s damp had seeped in. Once he was satisfied, he swirled the brush through the lather and brushed it on, first to the left, and then to his right. The sensation was a little odd. He did so himself every morning, but having another person do it for him was different somehow. The warm, soft sensation of the lather and the motions of the brush were oddly soothing, especially now he could monitor the movement of Corbin’s hands.

 

The razor came out again, and Corbin held it aloft, his eyes travelling between the blade’s reflection and Lauchlan’s eye. Slowly, he brought it around to his left cheek and started to gently shave it in short, careful strokes of the blade.

 

Lauchlan’s eye flickered between the blade and the fathomless brown eyes that bore into his own through the mirror. He forced himself to swallow, his mouth dry and his shoulders tensing under the weight of the razor’s edge. He could handle having his good side done but he knew what was coming, and a cold dread settled in his stomach.

 

Corbin finished the left side all too quickly, it had been relatively well cared for, and needed only a little squaring. Corbin gently wiped away the lather with the towel, cool against Lauchlan’s flushed skin, and tucked it back into the crook of his arm. He admired his work for a moment, and then cupped the left side of his face with a strong, steady hand, holding him still, and brought the razor to his right cheek.

 

The moment it touched him he felt his body go tense as a bowstring, his jaw locking and his knuckles going white as he clutched at his hem. The mirror was the only thing that kept him from struggling as the cool edge of the razor settled on his jaw and began slowly scraping at the bristle there. He kept his eye glued to it, watching it flash dully in the gaslight as it slowly, painstakingly worked across his cheek. The rough scratching sound of it filled his skull in a cacophony of noise, setting his teeth on edge.

 

Corbin finished the first pass of the razor, and stepped back to scrutinize his work for a moment, comparing one side to the other. Lauchlan breathed, just breathed, he was too high strung to do anything else for the moment, aside from trying to convince himself that it wasn’t going to happen, not again. That Corbin wouldn’t hurt him. That so long as he watched the damn blade nothing could happen. He chanted it over and over as he tried to make himself believe it.

 

Corbin returned to make the second pass, left to right now, the strokes longer and smoother than before, the horrible grinding sound not nearly as loud as it was.

 

Lauchlan’s breathing came a little easier after the sound stopped, and he returned to his mantra.

 

Corbin finished the second, and then moved from side to side to compare them both again. Satisfied he returned, and flipped the razor, adjusting his grip to hold it edge up and started the third pass.

 

He was good at it, efficient, finishing the job in a few broad strokes of the blade. Lauchlan could see his expression change from one of concentration to a satisfied, cocksure grin. The last stroke smooth and near silent, sliding from his cheek up to the strap. Corbin hummed in satisfaction, and he flicked the blade forward in a proud little flourish.

 

For a single terrifying moment, the razors edge surged outwards from his blind side and filled Lauchlan’s vision. It was too much, too close, too sudden, and his fragile self control snapped, the familiar terror bubbling up to consume him. He lashed out with, his right elbow digging into Corbin’s side and his forearm swatting away the razor.

 

Corbin grunted in pain, staggering into the opposite wall. He clutched at Lauchlan’s shoulder but Lauchlan shook him off, jumping to his feet and shrinking away from him.

 

He caught himself in the doorway and clung to the frame, desperate for support. He could remember, all he could do was remember as the horrid memories played over and over behind his eyelids. He didn’t want to remember! But he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t help himself as his body shuddered and his stomach churned, bile burning his tongue and every limb shaking as he remembered. The knife. The taste of spirits in his mouth. The weight of the hands of people he trusted, people he loved as they held him down. _Oh god_ , he remembered the knife.

 

He was going to be ill.

 

He fled the room, clinging to the walls and banisters as he staggered down the stairs and into the scullery. He barely made in time to empty his stomach into the wash trough, retching over and over till he ran out of bile. He braced his forearms and pressed his forehead against the cool tiled wall, his hands shaking and sweat flowing from every pore.

 

He didn’t want to remember it anymore but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about the knife.

 

But he had to. He was better than this. He had lived through this. He _had_ to be better.

 

“Lauchlan?”

 

Corbin was standing in the doorway, nursing his right hand, and his eyes wider than he’d ever seen.

 

“What in hell’s name happened?” Corbin said. He walked closer, padding lightly as he skirted around to Lauchlan’s left side, circling him like he was in danger of being bitten.

 

“I... I can’t. I just, c-can’t. I tried to stop but I can’t... I can’t. Just... a minute, I n-need a minute...”

 

Corbin’s expression was odd, his eyes wide and spooked, like a rabbit who’d locked eyes with a fox. He stepped forward, approaching him slowly, his footsteps heavy. He clenched his right hand tightly, and held it up against his opposite shoulder. The other extended the long forgotten towel toward Lauchlan’s hunched form.

 

Lauchlan stared at it. He wanted to reach out but he needed his shaking hands right were they were if he was to stay upright. He dry wretched again, his torso trembling and clenching in on itself in a futile attempt to wring out bile that just wasn’t in him. He groaned, and tried to breathe. Shallowly at first, but he tried to focus, tried to forget the knife and just breathe.

 

It was hard, more difficult than it had been in a very long time, every step he made dragged backward by another dry heave, but he managed. He couldn’t forget the knife though. He’d never forget the knife. But he could try to stop himself from thinking about it, if only for a little while longer.

 

He tried to straighten his body, his limbs not as weak as they had been. When he looked to his left, he was glad to see Corbin’s hand still held toward him. He took it, hands still trembling a little, mumbled a hoarse thanks and wiped his mouth and chin. The cloth was soothing and cool.

 

“Lather,” Corbin said, abruptly.

 

“Pardon?” Lauchlan murmured, his throat sore and stinging.

 

“You still have lather on your face,” Corbin said. He gestured to his own jaw with his left hand.

 

“Oh,” Lauchlan said, meekly. He found a clean patch of cloth and wiped his jaw line obediently, cleaning away the soap and bristle. He looked to Corbin again, hoping to ask after any spots he’d missed. Corbin was cradling his right hand again, clenching a checked handkerchief in his palm. It was wet with red.

 

“Corbin, you’re bleeding!” Lauchlan exclaimed.

 

“Yes, that I am,” Corbin grumbled, though it lacked his usual vitriol.

 

Lauchlan dropped the towel and stepped forward, clasping Corbin’s hand in his. He coaxed his fist open and lifted the handkerchief to examine the wound beneath. It was a long, arrow straight gash that ran from the joint of his forefinger to the heel of his palm. It didn’t seem too deep, thanks to the toughened hide of Corbin’s palms, but it was bleeding quite profusely. Lauchlan hastily pressed the handkerchief down onto the wound again and fished out his own, using it to tie Corbin’s into place.

 

“I have some iodine,” Lauchlan said, and he turned quickly to fetch it. He’d gotten into the habit of keeping it close to tend to Vagabond. She used to get into vicious fights quite often, coming home with her face and haunches covered in deep scratches and other war wounds. Never had he been more grateful for her territorial streak.

 

“I haven’t got any bandages, but I can fetch some clean linens,” Lauchlan murmured, his throat too raw to speak much louder. He twisted the bottle open and rounded back on Corbin’s hand.

 

“Lauchlan, stop it!”

 

“I... I’m sorry?”

 

Corbin sighed, wincing and holding his wounded hand up a little higher. He reached out and plucked the iodine bottle with the other one, the liquid sloshing, and stepped away.

 

“Look at yourself, you need to clean up,” Corbin growled

 

“But you, oh. The bath’s still running,” Lauchlan started, the realisation sinking in with a jolt. He turned to the door, but Corbin moved in front of him, blocking the doorway.

 

“I’ll handle it, now you clean yourself up,” snapped Corbin.

 

Lauchlan, opened his mouth to protest, but shut it a moment later. He could understand. The smell of bile and vomit must have been terrible, and he wouldn’t want his wounds tended to by a man who smelt as such. For all the fuss and bother involved Corbin had yet to even have the bath he’d been promised. He must’ve been freezing.

 

“Alright. I understand, I’ll bring you up some clean things once I’ve finished here. If you could shut off the gas, I would appreciate it,” he said, meekly.

 

Corbin huffed, but he nodded in agreement none the less. He left with his thumb pressed over the bottle’s mouth and his wounded hand clutched against his shoulder.

 

The memories swelled up again with the urgency gone, only now they were interspersed with images of Corbin, lying wounded with bruises shaped like hand prints and blood in places that blood should never be. He cowered against the wall again, guilt gnawing at his conscious and his empty stomach rolling over and over. He rested his forehead against the cool of the tiles, squeezing his eye shut and doing what he could to banish the memories once again. They didn’t want to go, but he found that the memories of Corbin were far kinder than the alternative, so he focused on those. They were hardly pleasant memories, but at least those were of wounds that could heal, mistakes he could yet atone for.

 

The plumbing gurgled loudly, copper pipes trembling and groaning behind the wall as the flow of water was shut off. Lauchlan listened to the familiar sound and sighed.

 

He had to clean up.

 

The scullery hadn’t the luxury of under floor plumbing like the bathroom, but had the singular benefit of a water pump inside of the building. It was a simple lever apparatus that stood above the wash trough, which itself was attached to a gutter that emptied out at the end of the courtyard, near the outhouse. He opened up the drain and flexed the pump a few times, his strength sapped by his illness, but he managed it quickly enough to wash the worst of the sick away. He then closed the drain and laboriously filled the trough, spooning in some wash powder to cover the stench and soak away the residual sick. It left the room smelling faintly of eucalyptus

 

His shirt was splattered with bile and soaked in sweat so he undressed, and set the garment aside to soak.

 

He washed his face with cool water and a clean rag, rinsing his mouth out with epsom salt and hotwater, spat, and then popped a humbug into his mouth to relieve his throat and mask the worst of the taste.

 

He felt a physical wreck by the time he was done, and stumbled out into the front parlour where he collapsed into his favourite armchair.

Vagabond had been basking on the hearthstone, and her tattered ears perked up immediately. She sniffed the air a second, and then leapt up into his lap, butting her head against his naked chest as she circled in place, the tip of her tail brushing underneath his chin with every pass. Lauchlan chuckled, the motion a little ticklish, and cupped her face, scratching her behind her ears and under her chin. She was purring, it was too quiet for him to hear but he could feel her throat thrumming beneath his fingers. She put her paws up on his chest and stretched her head upwards, exposing her throat in a bid to be scratched more. He laughed again, warmly, easily, breathing properly at last. She settled after a moment, and Lauchlan stroked her idly as he rested his overwrought body and sucked on the sweet.

 

The clock on the mantle saw fit to interrupt after a few minutes, chiming the eighth hour. Lauchlan looked at in surprise, confirming that it was chiming the same hour that it showed.

 

He could have sworn it was only half six when Corbin had arrived. He’d normally be in his sleep clothes by this hour, and in bed by the half hour, what with his working day beginning at five. He groaned in exhaustion, and regretfully pried Vagabond from his lap. She hissed, pricking his thighs in vehement protest. When he persisted in removing her she twisting free before he could set her down. She strutted back to her place on the hearthstone to groom and sulk, flicking her tail at him in agitation. He rose, brushed the fur from his trousers and slowly plodded upstairs to the master bedroom.

 

He pulled a fresh shirt on, if only for the sake of decency, and found some clean clothes for Corbin to borrow. He took a linen cloth and a couple of safety pins from the linen closet as he passed it by.

 

He paused tentatively before the bathroom door, nervously fidgeting for a moment before he managed to gather enough courage to rap on the door with the back of his knuckles.

 

“It’s me. Are you decent?” Lauchlan called, his throat stung from the exertion of raising his voice.

 

“I’m about as decent as I’m going to get,” came the reply, muffled by the door.

 

Lauchlan entered gingerly, well aware that Corbin’s idea of what was decent was likely to be rather different from his own. He was right, it seemed, as found Corbin still damp from the bath, his skin flushed pink from the water, dressed in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, covering him from hip to thigh.

 

Lauchlan blushed to spite himself, unable to avert his eye from the sight. Corbin’s hair refused to lie flat, even after Corbin had made a concerted attempt to wash it. The damp curls stuck out every which way, steam licking up from it to form a wreath of vapour round his head. He flicked his eye surreptitiously downward and he noticed the makings of a dark purple bruise spreading beneath the blanket of dark curls, and felt guilt twist in the pit of his empty stomach. He averted his eye all together, and put his bundle down on the edge of the cabinet.

 

“Would you mind if I had a look at your hand, please?” he murmured. There was really no reason to. He had little doubt that Corbin could care for himself, but he needed to know that he’d be all right. For his own sake, if nothing else.

 

He didn’t look up to see Corbin’s expression, but he heard Corbin approach, his hip bumping up against his own. His right hand extended toward him in a wordless truce.

 

Corbin had smeared his palm with iodine as he’d promised, the smell crisp and strong, and tied the handkerchiefs across it in a makeshift bandage. The blood was no longer as vivid as it was, though it had only just begun to clot. He cupped Corbin’s hand in his own, and gently pressed on the flesh of his palm, on either side of the wound. He wasn’t sure what he was doing exactly, but he wanted to assure himself that the rest of Corbin’s hand looked normal, and true enough the colour ran out and flooded back normally when he applied pressure. Satisfied with that, he took the linen cloth, tore it into long strips, then wrapped Corbin’s hand up even further, winding once round his palm, once again round his thumb and again between his middle and ring fingers, ensuring that it’d keep his palm still and flat until he took it off, then pinned it tightly into place.

 

“How’d this happen?” Lauchlan muttered, ashamed and embarrassed.

 

“I lost my grip on the razor,” said Corbin. He shrugged one shoulder up and pulled his hand away, turning it over once or twice to examine Lauchlan’s handiwork before bringing it back up to rest against his shoulder. He put his other hand on the pile of clothing.

 

“This for me?” said Corbin, his voice a forceful bark, but the usual inflection wasn’t quite there.

 

Lauchlan nodded. Before he could leave to give the man some privacy he’d taken the trousers from the bundle and unwound the towel.

 

Lauchlan whirled around, blushing furiously as he heard the quiet sound of the towel falling into a heap on the ground. He’d been quick enough to avoid the sight of Corbin exposed, but that didn’t stop him from envisioning what he knew was there. That had all been burned into his memory far too thoroughly for him to forget now.

 

Corbin chuckled at his modesty, an honest, easy sound that rang through the small room. Lauchlan blushed even more furiously at that, but found that it warmed him regardless of the embarrassment it inflicted.

 

He noticed razor sitting on the opposite side of the cabinet’s surface, probably just where Corbin had dropped it. The blade was opened still, dangling over the edge of the basin, and Lauchlan snatched it up before it could teeter over. He inspected it carefully, running his fingers over the wooded handle, and twisting the blade this way and that so that its cutting edge reflected the light. It seemed undamaged, though the blade was dirtied by lather and bristle, and the lather had a decidedly pinkish tint now. He winced, the guilt gnawing anew. He edged carefully around Corbin, swished it through the bathwater until it was clean, then edged back to dry and strop it.

 

He dared a glace black at Corbin. He was partially dressed already, the trousers fitting nicely around his hips, a little low perhaps, but they were in no danger of dropping further. The legs were naturally much too long for him, and bunched up around his ankles, swallowing up most of his feet. He seemed to be struggling with the shirt though, his couldn’t manage the buttons with several of his fingers restrained, and the cuffs continued to flop down over his hands and get in the way. He was muttering angrily beneath his breath, his forehead pinched and cheeks hot from frustration.

“Here, let me,” murmured Lauchlan, extending his hands toward him in gentle invitation. He faltered a moment, unsure of where the line was drawn, his hands hovering awkwardly between them.

 

Corbin looked up, harrumphed in a vaguely affirmative way, and swung his arms apart, baring his chest, his dark curls at contrast with the crisply starched cotton.

 

Lauchlan wet his lips, and heaved a fortifying breath, filing the sight away to reminisce over later on. Once he managed to stop staring at the other man, he tenderly buttoned the shirt up for him, his fingers fumbling with the task but managing none the less. The warmth of his chest was comforting, and the slight rise and fall of his chest was more enticing than it had any right to be. It was not a lustful enticement, he’d been through far too much in one evening to conjure such thoughts, but it made him want to embrace the man, hold him tight, breathe in his curious scent and remind himself that Corbin was alive and well. He didn’t dare though, not after all he’d done.

 

He settled instead for gently smoothing down the folds of the shirt, tugging at the hems so that they sat flat. Gently he shifted Corbin’s forearms upright and turned down the sleeves, folding them back a few inches so that the cuffs sat nicely round his wrists. His hands lingered on his Corbin’s a little longer than he should have, guilt swimming through his consciousness, pricking at his throat as he looked at the damage he’d wrought.

 

“You going kiss it better for me, now, are you?” Corbin said, his eyes shining with laughter.

 

Lauchlan jumped from his guilt-ridden trance and felt a blush splash up his neck and across his cheeks. He released Corbin’s wrists hastily, clasping his hands behind his back as if in a feeble attempt to keep Corbin’s warmth trapped between them, ridiculous though it was.

 

“I’m sorry I... I’m just, so sorry. For everything,” Lauchlan sighed, averting his. Suddenly, Corbin’s joking seemed far from amusing. He _was_ sorry. He seemed to always have cause to be sorry to Corbin, and nothing he did to try and reconcile amounted to any good. He imagined taking Corbin’s hand in his, pressing a kiss to his bandaged palm and saying his apologies again, so that he’d know, so that it would mean something. Corbin would probably laugh, but at least then he’d have accomplished something good for a change, even if it only lasted for a moment.

 

“You hop in the bath, I’ll be downstairs,” declared Corbin, not unkindly, but his voice was sharp edged and his expression tightly guarded. He gathered up his own sodden clothes and balanced them against his hip as he walked out onto the landing.

 

Lauchlan considered stopping him for a brief moment, but restrained himself from following through with the urge. It wouldn’t have been proper of him, and the moment was gone. Trying it now would just feel childish, demeaning, and Lauchlan never wanted to be thought of that way.

 

He turned away, his guilt gnashing upon itself, and latched the door shut. He undressed again, and settled down into the cooling, second hand bathwater. The tub was too short for him to lay down in, but it was so deep that it didn’t really matter. He could lean back comfortably, with his legs folded loosely against his chest. He scrubbed himself clean quickly and vigorously, but his illness had left a lingering sensation of grime and filth upon him that he couldn’t scrub off. He let the bath out, the pipes gurgling and squeaking as the water flowed away.

 

He emerged tentatively onto the landing, wrapped securely in a towel and glanced left and right in a furtive check for onlookers before taking himself to the master bedroom. He debated putting day clothes back on, considering his company, but decided against it. The hour was too late to be changing in and out of clothing and Corbin had seen him in far less, so he doubted the man would pay any mind. He dressed in his best winter nightshirt, a warm, modest garment, and a faded, velveteen dressing gown that had been worn to near baldness.

 

He edged downstairs, the stairs creaking a little as he went, and peered into the front parlour. Corbin had drawn the curtains and stacked the fire high. His clothes were laid out on the hearthstone and were steaming gently. Vagabond was lying on the rug, having been usurped from her usual basking place by the damp clothes. She was kneading at a leg of Corbin’s trousers in revenge. Corbin himself was resting on the settee, slouching in a rather undignified way, his legs apart, and his head propped on one of the armrests, his wounded hand still held high, against the backrest.

 

Lauchlan knocked quietly against the doorframe to announce his presence, and entered gingerly into the room, hovering behind one of the armchairs and holding the back of it for support. Corbin glanced drowsily up at him, his eyes hooded and cheeks flushed from the heat of the fire. Lauchlan’s voice caught in his throat a moment, and he had to cough to dislodge it.

 

“Can I get you something? Tea, or anything at all?” he stuttered, his words stumbling over each other.

 

“You can sit down,” growled Corbin. He straightened, bringing his knees together and raising his head.

 

Lauchlan swallowed nervously, and perched on the edge of the seat he’d hovered behind, his hands folded across his lap.

 

“I believe that I’m owed an explanation,” said Corbin, his voice a little softer, but his glare offered no room for argument.

 

Lauchlan spluttered, his heart thrumming anew and his fingers clenching painfully tightly.

 

“What, what do you mean?” he stuttered, shamelessly evading the command.

 

“Your, what was the word we decided on? Oh yes, aversion. Why? You didn’t seem nearly so affected by it before, why is it suddenly so much worse now?” he snarled, his hands moving about as he talked and his glare hardening.

 

“You didn’t have a blade before,” he murmured weakly, hands clenching to fists as memories surfaced and his stomach churned.

 

“Well of course not. But what did you think I was going to shave you with, sandpaper?” he scoffed.

 

“No, nothing, of course I never thought that, I just, I just thought that I could, stop myself, control myself. If I’d have known that I would, that I would do that, I’d have never, I’d never,” his voice caught in his throat, and with a huff of frustration he covered his face with his hands, pressing on his cheeks and gently combing back through his hair as he struggled to regulate his breathing. His right hand lingered, shielding the side of his face.

 

“Stop yourself from what?” Corbin said, one eyebrow jerking up as he studied him with renewed curiosity. He leaned forward on his seat, coming a little closer and propping his elbows on his knees.

 

“Lashing out, struggling, running. I don’t know. I just can’t, I can’t help myself,” Lauchlan shrunk back in the seat, humiliation and shame contorting his expression.

 

“Why?” Corbin pressed, pushing forwards regardless of his state.

 

Lauchlan shuddered with revulsion at the memory of exactly why, and his stomach churned with renewed vigour.

 

“I don’t, I don’t like to be touched that way. Bad memories,” he murmured.

 

“Memories of what?” prodded Corbin, the softness of his eyes promising eternal patience while his voice rumbled with anger, heady and powerful enough to send Lauchlan shrinking back yet further into his chair.

 

“I don’t, I don’t want to,” he murmured weakly.

 

“Lauchlan. Tell me what,” snarled Corbin. He stood up and come to perch on the armrest, at Lauchlan’s elbow, and he loomed over him now.

 

He tried to shrink further away but he was already plastered against the backrest. He groped for an apology, an excuse, an order to make Corbin back away and leave him be, but his nerve had abandoned him. With Corbin’s glare burning into him, patience, anger and pity all stirred together into an incomprehensible, impossible cocktail, he found his resolve crumbling away from him. Corbin had stripped him all but naked, literally and figuratively, endured his actions when he’d been at his very lowest, gutted him, and then put him back together again and through it all he’d found it in himself to try and make Lauchlan’s life a little easier, if not better. Lauchlan just didn’t have the willpower left in him to deny the man, no matter how it hurt.

 

It was no less than what he owed him.

 

“There was a bird,” Lauchlan croaked, his throat flayed raw by stress and anguish.

 

“A bird,” parroted Corbin, his voice ringing with disbelief, and Lauchlan didn’t need to look to know that both eyebrows had risen now.

 

Lauchlan nodded, his voice too tight to speak normally. It sounded so foolish when Corbin said it aloud, but it was the truth.

 

“A bird did that?” asked Corbin, incredulously gesturing to the side of his face.

 

Lauchlan nodded again in affirmation, his cheeks flushed with shame.

 

“Alright, but what has that to do with the knife fixation?” said Corbin, a little snidely.

 

“A Doctor had to take out, what, w-what was left. I remembered,” Lauchlan murmured, stomach rolling queasily.

 

“Remembered what, the Doctor?” Corbin asked, his head tilted quizzically, his tone soft and gentle again.

 

“All of it, we didn’t, _have_ anything,” Lauchlan said, his voice small and feeble.

 

“All of what? Any of what? You’re not making any sense,” growled Corbin, huffing in frustration. He took a breath, sharp and deep, and calmed himself. His gaze softened and he rested a hand on Lauchlan’s forearm, squeezing it softly in encouragement.

 

“We didn’t, didn’t have anything for it, for me, I mean. The doctor had to do it quickly, I wouldn’t, I couldn’t...” his stomach was flipping and his throat was closing around his voice, “I remembered it,” he finished, quickly blurting out the words before his words left him all together.

 

Corbin’s brow creased in incomprehension, and he cocked his head to one side.

 

“What couldn’t you do?” Corbin asked, uncertainly, as if he wasn’t sure of the question.

 

Lauchlan flinched. Corbin was really going to make him tell him, going to make him say it. He didn’t want to talk anymore, he wasn’t even sure if he could. It was shameful. He was nearing thirty years of age for heavens sake. Only children were ruled by their emotions, he should have conquered his years ago, but no matter how he tried, it was his fear and his shame that ruled him.

 

He wanted to curse Corbin. To rant and rave and throw him out of his house so he wouldn’t have to talk about it anymore, wouldn’t have to spell out the whole sordid tale, but he couldn’t do it. He had wounded Corbin too deeply to claim that right.

Corbin deserved to be told.

 

He just didn’t know if he could bring himself to spell out the whole sordid tale.

 

He’d only been a boy at the time, old enough to know better perhaps, but he’d long given up playing the ‘what if’ game. He had been living with his mother and stepfather at the country estate where they worked, his mother the undercook, his stepfather a valet to one of the Masters eldest sons. It was a huge, rambling estate, the grounds filled with sweet smelling flowerbeds, sculpted topiaries, waterlily choked ponds and ancient, gnarled trees cloaked in flowering vines.

 

His mother had made sure that he payed his way in the household, working in the kitchen, running as an in-between, and helping the maids and page boys with their tasks. In later years, he’d spend time looking after his little sister Claire, so that Mother had more time to work, or get a little rest. There wasn’t much of anything he wouldn’t put his hand to if he was asked. Stepfather had always been proud of his industriousness, and assured him that he’d be put up with a more prestigious position once he was a little older. He was at the age where he was all gangly limbs and uncoordinated movement, and he was rather too clumsy and uncomfortable in his scarcely pubescent body to be suitable for the front house staff, which was as much an ornament to the household as they were a workforce.

 

On Sundays he would study, his stepfather using what little free time he had to teach him reading, writing and complicated arithmetic. The things that mother had never learnt and his birth father hadn’t lived to teach him. If he did well he’d be let out to spend an hour or two in the garden, provided he not be seen by anyone but his fellow staff.

 

It had been an inauspicious spring day, the sun unseasonably harsh and the wind strong and dry. So when he was let loose he’d laid down in a cool patch of grass between a towering hedge and a low garden wall, and promptly dosed off into a pleasant nap. When he woke, he had stood and stumbled into the household governess before he could do so much as scrub the sleep from his eyes.

 

The governess was an odd woman, as she was neither a part of the staff nor the Master’s family. She was considered above them, as she was of higher birth, though rumour had it that she ended up working as she did because her brothers’ drank and gambled her family’s estate into ruin. She wore black to all occasions, as if in mourning, and carried a lace trimmed parasol like a Guardsman would a rifle. The people always called “the lady governess” or “the Mistress’s handler,” even over the dinner table when the yoke of propriety was usually shucked. It was as if her name alone was taboo. It had struck him as a little sad, as he, as shy as he was, was on naming terms with almost everyone else.

 

She had stared down her nose at him, sniffed and put her arm out to shield her charge, as if he carried something contagious that risked jumping to the little girl.

 

The girl was the patriarch’s only daughter, a child of eight, dressed up in elaborate lace and sky blue silk. She reminded him of an expensive porcelain doll that one of the ladies maids had repaired once, and he wondered if it had belonged to her. Her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks streaked with dried tears.

 

He remembered feeling very sorry for the girl, and wondering how the governess could be so stern when her charge was upset so.

 

She answered the question for him by flipping up her parasol, pointing it to a bough of a huge, sprawling oak tree.

 

“Go fetch it boy,” she had commanded, her expression devoid of all but distain. Then, she shepherded her charge back to the shaded picnic blanket they had come from, sat primly down in a cane chair and took up a piece of embroidery while the girl sat daintily on an ottoman beside her.

 

He remembered feeling flabbergasted, wondering how on earth the woman expected him to bring her a whole tree. Only once he’d approached the trunk did he notice that the little girl was forlornly holding a spool of sturdy twine, a length of it running up into the dense canopy above, where a piece of red fabric fluttered.

 

He’d never climbed a tree before, it seemed a sure-fire way to draw undue attention to himself from the higher ups, and even if it hadn’t been, the gardener would surely become apoplectic. Climbing the trunk had been easy enough, it was thick, knobbly and covered in woody stemmed vines that made perfect handholds. The bough though, that had made him nervous. It was difficult not to notice how high up he was when clinging to it forced him to face down. He’d inched his way toward the red flutter, the bough growing thinner and thinner the closer he came, and he remembered his palms sweating so much that it was hard to hold on. By the time he’d reached the little girl’s kite the branch seemed perilously thin, and it sagged and creaked beneath his weight. He’d tried to dislodge the toy, tugging and wiggling it, but the tail was caught on something even further out. The little girl was pulling on the twine in some misguided attempt to help him and achieved exactly the opposite, pulling the kite even further from his reach. He’d edged out after it, and took hold of the twine so that she couldn’t make things even worse. He gave the tail a tug to see where it was caught.

 

At that, a harsh cry had pierced the air.

 

His head snapped up and met eyes with the silver-eyed stare of a murderous jackdaw. She was standing on a nest of twigs and moss that rested in a fork of the branch, a precious trove of speckled eggs nestled within. She was glaring at him, head low and tail raised high like a flag, clicking her beak and making strange raspy clucking noises, like some combination of a growling dog and an angry hen. He dropped the tail hastily, scrambling backward until his backside hit into a fork in the bough, one of his legs tangled in the leafy branches.

 

The was a loud flapping, then an outraged caw, and before he could get his bearings the jackdaw’s mate swooped him from behind, its beak sinking into the flesh of his ear and tearing forwards as it spiralled into the canopy, vanishing instantly amongst the leaves.

 

He’d cried out, cupping his bleeding ear, the pain sharp and sudden. He’d scrambled, trying to swing a leg around the branch so that he could straddle it the other way around and get away from the birds nest. The female leapt into flight, her beak snapping above his head as he ducked beneath her, the branch swaying as he scrabbled for grip.

 

He’d managed to get one leg around, and was about to get the other up when he saw the mate streaking towards him, black wings silhouetted against the harsh afternoon sun.

 

He’d thrown up a hand in some vane attempt at swatting it from the air, it skimmed effortlessly around the strike, its claws scraping along his arm as his grew closer, he tried to duck, but the bird dove after him, twisting in the air till its beak speared into the soft flesh between eye and brow. His vision became fogged with red as blood flowed down into his eye, and he scarcely had the means to see the second bird as it came, beak snapping into the soft target that was his temple.

 

The first came again, swooping in quick succession now, and he shrieked and threw up his arms to shield his face, the bird’s beak curling into his scalp, and used his head like a spring board, launching back into the air.

 

He swatted up at it, trying to beat it down, only to offer his mate the opening she needed, and she barrelled in toward him with her wings tucked in, determined to decommission his other eye.

 

He’d spotted her mere inches away from him, and did the only thing he could do to avoid her, he’d ducked, throwing his body forward to avoid her onslaught, but it was too far, and with a sickening lurch he felt himself sliding forwards. It was too late to rebalance, and as he teetered he remembered hearing a high pitched scream. He fell, sliding perilously downward, but at the last moment he managed to catch himself on the lowest branch, his feet swinging through empty air as he clung. Someone was shouting, but he didn’t understand the words, and he didn’t dare take his eyes off the furious jackdaws as they came closer and closer.

 

Sheer terror flooded through his veins, there was nothing he could do, nowhere he could go, it was either let go of the branch and fall, or hold on and be attacked. He scrabbled in a last desperate bid to get a leg up and around, but he was too weak, too slow, and in terrible, inescapable synchronicity the birds descended on him, beaks open wide in a wrathful war cry.

 

Their beaks curled into the vulnerable flesh of his scalp and face, swooping and striking over and over. He’d cried and sobbed, clinging desperately to the branch and shaking his head side to side in an attempt to dislodge them, but they were smart, and wickedly cruel, striking over and over at the soft, delicate parts of his face, he’d raised his left hand in a last, feeble attempt to drive them off, dangling precariously from his right, his torso folded double as he scrabbled for purchase with his feet. One of them, whether it was the male or the female he did not know, struck at his face. Its beak drove into the soft, jelly like tissue of his right eye. He’d screamed, whipping his hand around and finally catching a handful of tail feathers, but that only made it worse, as the bird frantically clawed at his cheek, driving it’s beak forward twice, thrice, until in his agony he’d let go all together, the branch slipping from beneath him as he hurtled down toward the ground, black feathers brushing between his fingers.

 

He must have only fallen for a second or two, but he would always remember that single moment of weightlessness, watching his ankles rise up as his torso pitched backwards, and the painful brightness cutting into the right side of his vision. All he could see was white. Bright, blinding, burning white light. He’d hit the ground soon after, pain exploding first from his right arm as it struck the earth, then his shoulder, his back, and the base of his skull, and the world pitched and spun about him, shimmering like steam.

 

He had vague memories of being lifted and carried, of blinding pain all throughout his body. He remembered his vision swimming between blinding white and muddied red, black spots dancing in his vision, the feeling of something warm and thick, like a fresh laid egg yolk, sliding down his cheek, of cold water being poured over him making him splutter and cough till it stopped.

 

What happened after that was clearer. He remembered his mother in tears, his stepfather shouting and baby Claire howling at the noise. He was laid down on the kitchen table, and someone poured brandy down his throat, making him cough and retch all over again. He remembered looking down at himself, and through the stinging haze of blood and gunk, he remembered seeing his arm bent in a way it shouldn’t have been able to bend, and something pale and bloody piercing through his shirt sleeve, but before he could really look at it someone covered his eyes with a cloth, the fabric of it burning and stinging as it clung to his wounds, and he felt steady hands close about his jaw, holding his head still.

 

He wasn’t sure what happened between then and when the doctor arrived. It had felt as if he’d waited for hours, the ringing pain dragging the passage of time to a glacial pace.

 

Someone poured more liquor down his throat, something stronger than brandy. It had burned like fire, and he’d very nearly drowned in it, coughing and spluttering as the person poured, the liquid clogging in his throat and trapping his breath until someone else shouted for them to stop. People cut away his clothing, the scissors nipping at his skin, and he’d whimpered and cried out in fear of being exposed so.

 

The doctor did something to his arm, pulled it, realigned it, re-broke it, he wasn’t sure what, all he knew was that it was little short of agony. He’d screamed and screamed the whole way through, and people had had to hold him to the table. He could remember the sound of his humerus grinding against itself as the doctor did what ever it was he’d done, and then the pricking of the needle as the wound was sutured. The Doctor poured water over it, then something else that burned, bandaged it, and braced it with a shell of something soggy and oddly stiff feeling.

 

There had been quiet for a little while after that, he’d sobbed while people talked and yelled all around him. His mother had been beside him, holding one of his hands and begging for him to be alright, his stepfather was yelling at the doctor, long words that he didn’t understand, like ‘ _chloroform,_ ’ ‘ _laudanum,_ ’ and ‘ _retina_ ’ flying back and forth like volleys of gunfire. The two second footmen were holding down an ankle each, muttering sympathetic words and reassurance between themselves. Someone else who wasn’t close enough to recognise was talking about the little girl he’d met in the garden, quietly saying that she’d had a sort of fit and wouldn’t stop screaming.

 

Time passed as he laid whimpering and blind on the table. After an unfeasible, agonising stretch of time, the yelling stopped, and the doctor lifted the cloth from his eyes.

 

The brightness burned, and his wounds stung as the scabs were torn off with the cloth, he felt blood flowing down his cheeks again. The doctor’s face was deeply lined and serious, despite the ludicrous pair of muttonchops he sported. He held a scalpel one hand and some sort of pronged metal tool in the other. He looked at his right eye, frowning and gnashing his teeth, saying something so quickly Lauchlan couldn’t understand it. At the command everyone swarmed around them. The second footmen clutching his ankles tighter, an in-between maid on each knee, his mother on his right arm and his stepfather on his left, more arms still pressed down his torso, and someone else was behind the doctor, holding his head still in an iron grip. The Doctor brought the metal tool down, using it to force open his bloodied eyelids, and the scalpel swooped in, tearing and cutting at that most delicate of organs like the horrid jackdaw had.

 

Lauchlan screamed till his voice shattered, he’d sobbed, and shook and struggled with all his might, even as the bone of his right arm ground and shifted, but the people holding him down were too strong, and the doctor was unmoved, his jaw set in grim determination as he cut out what little was left of his right eye, cutting at it little by little until it came away from the socket, bloodied and hollow like a fleshy, pipped fruit. The Doctor poured the socket full of a fluid that burned in a new, furious agony he had never felt the like of, before or since, and cauterised it with something, smooth, round and fiery hot. The Doctor then sutured him up, bandaged his face, tended to his arm anew, and left without a word to him.

 

He’d was deposited into his mothers arms, shaking and whimpering like a pup in a thunder storm. She clutched him for hours, murmuring worthless platitudes and rocking him back and forth, begging him to sleep. He’d been too exhausted to struggle, but too terrified to rest. The bright, burning white light was still there, dancing about his vision no matter how he tried to close his eyes and blot it out. He couldn’t succumb to his exhaustion until somebody jabbed him with a needle full of something. It was a fitful sleep, and he’d not rest peacefully again for years afterward. That night was when the black took its place, and there were nightmares in the black. Nightmares that made the white seem serene and friendly by comparison.

 

Some years later, his stepfather had written to him, mentioning, among other things, that they had been lucky an experienced military field doctor had taken up as the town’s locum. That he was grateful that the doctor had had experience treating serious wounds without the proper equipment other surgeons could not work without, and that he could work so quickly. Lauchlan knew he meant well, honestly, he did, but the letter had made him ill. He’d gotten rid of it without reading another word, and it was not until several weeks later that he could bring himself to write a letter back.

 

He’d never really let on that his childhood terrors were still with him. He hadn’t wanted to disappoint the people who’d tried so hard to help him through it, or to bring shame upon himself and those he held dear, but they were with him all the same.

 

It wasn’t the sort of thing he could just forget, no matter how he tried.

 

His stomach churned, and the rising tide of illness drowned him as he choked on the words. He stood, tearing away from Corbin to stagger for the scullery again.

 

He braced himself above the wash trough, the cloyingly sweet smell of the wash powder made the churning even worse, and he gasped, heaving for breath as his stomach rolled and his throat rippled, threatening to empty his stomach again.

 

Corbin came up beside him, quietly, and rested a hand on Lauchlan’s back, stroking in soothing circles.

 

It helped, at least a little. Lauchlan managed to keep what little he had in his stomach. His dignity was not so unscathed.

 

He looked up, peering abashedly up at Corbin through the corner of his eye, and found a look of grim comprehension and sympathy gazing back. He finally understood, it seemed. It was just as well. Lauchlan didn’t think he could manage another word.

 

Corbin stayed there, stroking his back long after his stomach had calmed itself and the desire to retch had left him. Lauchlan was ashamed to admit that he rather enjoyed the feeling. He wanted to hold the man, or better yet, to be held, to assure himself that this was now and not then, but that wouldn’t have been appropriate of him and he was so tense with nerves he’d probably do something regretful the moment Corbin so much as twitched.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, his temple pressed against the wall, but after a while Corbin left, banged about in the cupboards, returned, filled a cup with water from the pump, and pressed it into his trembling hands.

 

“Drink up,” he said, giving his shoulder a soft, sympathetic pat.

Lauchlan drank obediently and Corbin reclaimed the cup, filled it again, and bid him to repeat the process. Lauchlan obeyed, taking measured sips till it was empty.

 

“Better?” Corbin asked, softly, his hand resting heavily on his shoulder.

 

Lauchlan winced, the word an echo of how this horrid episode had begun. Corbin patted soothingly, and Lauchlan focused on that, calming himself down.

 

“Better,” parroted Lauchlan, though he knew it was a lie. He’d have been better to have never recalled anything at all, but he didn’t want Corbin thinking himself responsible for his own weak will, and weaker stomach.

 

Corbin hummed in satisfaction, and softened his patting.

 

The clock in the parlour chimed, and Corbin perked up at the sound, Lauchlan could see his lips part as he silently counted the chimes, sighing as it struck nine.

 

“I ought to be going,” admitted Corbin, voice soft and apologetic.

 

Lauchlan winced, and dread welled up in him at the thought of spending another night sleepless and alone, tormented by memories. He could never fend them off when he slept, especially now that they’d been roused so thoroughly.

 

“Alright, don’t let me keep you,” murmured Lauchlan. Even as he words left his mouth he so desperately wished for Corbin to stay. He’d slept so well by Corbin’s side, and he needed that warmth, that safety, more now than he had in years upon years. He knew better than to ask, though. Corbin had his own bed, his own affairs, and Lauchlan wasn’t so selfish as to impose his own weakness upon the man.

 

Corbin touched his wrist, a small, gentle gesture that tugged at his heartstrings far more harshly than it had any right to, and left.

 

Lauchlan waited in the hall, letting Corbin dress himself in peace. Corbin emerged some minutes later, shirt and coat undone, and Lauchlan went to aid him without a thought, gently threading the buttons closed, though he had to admit that he did so far more slowly than he could have, and his hands lingered against Corbin’s chest of their own volition.

 

“Goodnight,” he muttered, unable to conjure any other sort of farewell. He wished that Corbin would kiss him goodbye again. He needed to hold someone, to not be alone for a few more minutes.

 

Corbin smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He turned on his heel, stepped into his shoes, and stepped out into the doorstep, where the sleet still steadily pattered down.

 

“Goodnight,” he echoed, and with that, he stepped out onto the street, disappearing behind the dark curtain of winter weather.

 

Lauchlan sighed, and latched the door shut behind him, and bolting it against the cold. His chest squeezed tightly as the weight of his solitude settled over him like a blanket of lead.

 

In that moment, he would have done just about anything to not be alone, and he half expected Corbin to come barrelling back through the door and use that against him, to use _him._ Lauchlan wouldn’t even have minded so long as the man stayed.

 

He undid the latch and bolt, yanking the door open.

 

“Corbin!” he called, unthinkingly selfish and wrought with desperation. He just needed someone, to not be alone for a little bit longer. Just a little longer and he’d be able to survive the memories till morning.

 

He could hear Corbin’s footsteps splashing over the cobbles before he could see him, he was running, and in a few long strides he appeared in the doorframe, eyes wide and frantic as they flicked over the scene, then crinkling in confusion.

 

“What is it?” asked Corbin, eyebrow cocked and eyes flicking about the hall.

 

Lauchlan blushed and spluttered, his voice suddenly taking leave of him. What on earth _could_ he tell the man? He longed to ask him to stay, longed to hold him and be held, longed to wake up to another body in his bed, but he couldn’t ask that. What was he, a child? Corbin would laugh, surely.

 

He gazed down at Corbin helplessly, searching for something to say. Corbin was already damp from rain again, and jolted, wondering why the thought hadn’t come to him sooner.

 

“I forgot, please, just wait a moment,” he said, holding out his hands in a placating gesture before retreating down the hall. He kept an umbrella by the scullery door, to use when running to the outhouse and back. Corbin clearly needed it more than he did at the moment. He fetched it, and brought it back to the doorway with it hooked over his wrist.

 

“I meant to give this to you, you look like you could use it,” he muttered, hoping Corbin would swallow the almost lie, and offered the cane handle of the umbrella to him.

 

Corbin’s frown abated and he took the proffered umbrella by the handle. His fingers swept over his own, making him jolt a little. He clutched the cane handle for a moment too long, Corbin had to tug it away from his stiffened grip.

 

“Thankyou,” Corbin said, softly, his eyes lowering.

 

Lauchlan stuttered a moment, his face heating from the uncommon gratitude.

 

“It’s nothing, really,” he said, honestly, guilt nagging at him for hiding blatant self motivation behind kindness that way. He felt like some sort of charlatan.

 

Corbin’s hand took his wrist again, a comforting, gentle grip, and Corbin opened his mouth as if to say something, his brow creased and his eyes low, but stopped, shook his head and let him go.

 

“Goodnight,” Corbin said, and stepped back out into the dark of the winter’s night, putting up the umbrella and striding away.

 

Lauchlan gazed longingly out into the street for minutes after he’d gone, clutching his wrist in one hand without quite registering what he was doing, the oppressive storm of memories circling closer and closer the longer he waited. He shut the door and locked it tightly for the third time, knowing for certain that this would be the last. He rested his forehead against the windowpane and felt the weight of it settle upon him, raw and constricting.

 

He should have hated Corbin for reducing him to this, but he couldn’t find it in himself.

 

He only wished he’d begged him to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t tell you how glad I am to have this chapter out. The scenes been in my head since Christmas, and I’ve been working on it ever since. I’m very proud of the way it turned out, and I hope that you found it enlightening so far as the character development goes. I know it’s a little disturbing, considering the tone I started out with, but this scene just had to be told. This chapter is unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own and I’d appreciate having them pointed out. Thankyou to everyone who’s been so kind as to give kudos. I’ll be seeing you with the next instalment.
> 
> Also, I've decided to create a TV Tropes page here:
> 
> http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Literature/MixBeerWithLiquorAndYouWillGetSicker
> 
> There aren’t many tropes there yet, but please feel free to edit the page, and add anything you think is applicable. I’ll never get in the way of anything you want to add there.


	10. A Bitter Pill to Swallow

Lauchlan couldn’t bear to go to bed for the longest time. He paced throughout the parlour, twisting his hands into the cord of his dressing gown as he struggled to banish the memories from his head. The clock struck some ungodly hour and he forced himself to lay down, lest he not get any sleep at all.

 

He’d turned over and over in bed and over in bed, trying to settle, but every time his eye drifted shut and sleep wandered within reach he’d be gripped by the irrational conviction that if he let his eye shut he’d never be able to open it again. He jerked awake, terror coursing through his veins and fumbled desperately for the light. He realised what a fool he was being the moment his fingers closed about the matchbook. He berated himself, smoothed the bed linens into some semblance of order and tried to convince himself to sleep, only to repeat the process over again, and again.

 

Exhaustion forced rest upon him eventually, but his irrational terror saw fit to follow him there. He dreamt was falling, shapeless silhouettes chasing after him like streaks of soot against the sky. He hit the ground with a crack, and the silhouettes dissolved into the landscape around him, submerging him in a smothering blanket of monochrome. Strange winged things with narrow eyes and enormous snaggled teeth emerged from the inky black, their mouths moved as if speaking but no sound came from their snapping teeth. He’d try to run away but the inky blackness of the earth beneath him seemed the spool away from beneath him, and for all his flailing he’d be forced slowly agonizingly backward. He jolted awake just as the shadow of the odd face’s jaws had closed about him, nauseous, covered in sweat, and feeling even wearier for the entire ill-fated affair.

 

Daybreak came a little while later, though it did not bring solace. If anything it seemed intent on causing him further misery. Sleet was bearing down by the bucket load and thunder rolled faintly in the distance, just loud enough to put the animals on edge.

 

He had never hated the prospect of work quite so much as he did in that moment.

 

First thing in the morning a hansom dropped its axel halfway out the gate and they’d needed to drag it back into the yard by hand so that the rest of them could get out, then one of the horses threw a shoe and the cabbie limped him home, a half hours fare out of pocket, then yet another was pick pocketed by some guttersnipe and then, to cap off the whole hellish experience, one of the stableboys took a tumble down the hayloft stairs.

 

He hadn’t been badly hurt, thank goodness, but he sported a nasty lump on his head and knocked out one of his milk teeth. He’d been completely distraught, not realising that he’d be able to grow a new ones in soon. His hysterical blubbering had grated against Lauchlan’s head like a file. The throbbing headache he’d been nursing so tenderly bloomed into a migraine, compounded by the unceasing clatter of horseshoes upon flagstone and the rumbling of thunder.

 

No one saw fit to confront him when he called for the nightly lockup early, and he staggered home with his misery pounding behind his temples and churning in his gut.

 

He locked his house up tightly, closed the drapes, doused the lights, and drew a lukewarm bath. He barricaded himself in the bathroom, and sunk down to his chin in the soothing, cool water, pleading the stabbing pain to ease, just a little, as he cowered in the bathtub.

 

The migraine released its strangle hold slowly, uncoiling a touch with each angry throb, and as it retreated Lauchlan felt his grip on wakefulness slide away with it.

 

He awoke some hours later to Vagabond scratching and yowling at the bathroom door. The water was stone cold, and he was shivering and covered in gooseflesh. He yanked out the rubber plug with numb fingers and clambered out of the tub, the water’s buoyancy abandoning him with a sickening lurch. He wrapped himself up in a towel, franticly rubbing himself dry as the cold tiles leeched away what little warmth was left in him.

 

He opened the door, and Vagabond pattered in and wove sinuous figure eights between his ankles. Assured that she had his attention, she went pattering back into the hall. He followed after her to the master bedroom, and she sat on the hearthstone, sending a pointed look first at him, and then toward the cold fireplace.

 

“I’m sorry girl, I forgot,” he murmured.

 

Vagabond ignored him, and continued to stare pointedly at the fireplace, meowing for emphasis.

 

Lauchlan donned his nightclothes hastily, his pruned fingertips fumbling with the buttons and the cord of the dressing gown, though feeling was slowly returning to them.

 

He set the kindling in the grate and lit a wad of old newsprint. The flames licked alight and Lauchlan sat on the hearthrug to watch the small fire grow.

 

Vagabond jumped into his lap circling round a few times before flopping down and curling into a little ball. She purred silently, the vibrations soft and incessant, and kneaded at his thigh, her claws gently pricking him through the velveteen of the nightgown.

 

“It’s been an awful day today, I swear you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he murmured.

 

Vagabond’s gaze remained fixed on the fire dancing in the hearth, but her kneading sped up a touch.

 

Lauchlan sighed and scratched her behind her ears, and felt her purring redouble, and her claws prick a little deeper.

 

It was one thing to speak to an animal incapable of reasoning, but it was quite another to actually expect an answer from her. It was times like these he wondered if his bachelor’s lifestyle was quite healthy. He had enough space to take on a lodger, the room he’d claimed as a study could easily be turned into a second bedroom, as he suspected was the true intention. He’d receive a nice sum of spending money from a lodger, but he couldn’t bring himself to share in Percival’s legacy.

 

He’d considered taking on a live in housekeeper at one point. The cost would have been high, but not unaffordable, and it would have been nice to have another person to talk to, to come home to, but something about the idea felt predatory. He would have been paying for her to live with him, to tolerate him and talk to him. The woman would have been beholden to him, entrapped, and the thought of taking advantage of a person in that position, no matter how benign his intentions, felt dirty and immoral.

 

So, he was left here, alone and speaking to an ex-alley cat about his day, as if that wasn’t a little bit unhinged.

 

It was very unhinged actually, after yesterdays episode and today’s horrid turn of events, Lauchlan felt like he’d never be hinged again. His stomach was still rolling, his head ached and he felt like jumping and screaming at any little thing that moved. He just wanted to curl into a little ball with Vagabond and ignore the reality of his life for a very long time.

 

Lauchlan supposed that the horrid sequence of events today had been something of a blessing in disguise. He’d been so busy cleaning up after the mess fate saw fit to dump in his lap that he hadn’t the chance to dwell on the events of the day before, and make an idiot of himself in front of the whole stable. Small mercies were kinder than none at all, he supposed, even if they came with baggage of their own.

 

Lauchlan gently slid his hands beneath Vagabond’s curled form, and shifted her to the hearthrug. She swiped at him irritably, but quietly settled into her new spot once he retreated, and started kneading the soft rug. Lauchlan stood and wandered down to the scullery, finding the lower floor to be dark and bitingly cold.

 

Vagabond had managed to nose under the cover of his dinner tray, and helped herself to his meal. Lauchlan couldn’t blame her, he’d slept well past her dinnertime and the plate of food had long gone cold anyhow. It looked like it had been some sort of roast, pork maybe. There were still some congealed peas, sprouts and baked potatoes beside.

 

Grimacing, he managed to down some of the peas and sprouts before his stomach threatened an insurrection. He scraped the rest into a bowl and stashed it in the cold closet. He washed the plate, tray and cover, and set them back on the counter, the daily halfpenny in the centre of the plate for Theresa to collect in the morning.

 

Sleep evaded him again, though it was not quite so vindictive as before. The bed felt cold, and even after stacking new logs on the fire it wasn’t ever warm enough. He shivered and clutched at the quilt, turning back and forth in an attempt to warm the mattress. He fruitlessly tossed and turned until Vagabond leapt up from the hearthrug and sat down right between his shoulder blades. She curled up there and kneaded him through the blankets, her inaudible purring reverberating through the cavity of his chest.

 

She was a welcome lump of warmth, and her thrumming purr finally managed to ease him off.

 

Morning came again, far too soon, and he awoke with the queerest feeling that the contents of his skull had been scooped out and the empty space stuffed to bursting with cotton wool. His nose ran like a tap, his eyes watered, his throat ached and his ears rang like one of his horses had kicked him in his overstuffed head. Twice.

 

Well, it seemed he’d caught the flu. Wonderful.

 

He bundled up as warmly as he could without sacrificing the ability to bend at the elbows, choked down another bowl of porridge, though he could scarcely taste the stuff and headed out to work with the hopeful deduction that today could not possibly top yesterday in terms of sheer exhaustion.

 

He had a feeling he’d be eating those words, one way or another.

 

It was payday, and with the end of their punishment in sight the stableboys had abandoned whatever vestiges of repentance they’d worn before.

 

Several of the younger boys had sent him furtive, hopeful looks. When he took them aside to talk, they’d professed no knowledge of what Finch and company were up to, only that he’d been behaving secretively and went out of his way to intimidate them. Lauchlan’s head throbbed forebodingly, and though he tried to keep watch over the problem children, it was impossible to both keep his eye on them and keep the work going at anything resembling a fair pace. His cotton filled skull and constant sneezing and sniffling didn’t make things any easier.

 

Jasper returned for a change of horse around two o’clock in the afternoon and surprised him by urging him aside to talk.

 

“You’re looking under the weather mate,” he said, his brow creased in concern.

 

Lauchlan shifted uncomfortably. He and Jasper hadn’t spoken much beyond the usual morning greeting. They’d barely spoken at all since the interrogation that had precluded the storm, and that had been weeks ago. With his worrying over Corbin and the stable boys he’d scarcely even spared the man a thought. He’d been an awful friend and he hadn’t even realised.

 

“I caught a bit of a chill is all, I’ll be fine,” Lauchlan said, though he had to sniffle twice to sufficiently clear his airway.

 

“You know, Percival thought so too, at first,” said Jasper, low and serious.

 

Lauchlan flinched, and felt the colour run from his face. Jasper was right, Percival had shrugged off the symptoms at first, and by the time he realised that something was seriously wrong he’d had one foot in the grave already.

 

“If I’m not be better by tomorrow I’ll see a doctor, alright?” he said, sniffling miserably.

 

Jasper nodded approvingly, and pressed a warm, brown paper parcel into his hands.

 

“See that you do mate. It’d be real inconvenient of you to pop your clogs without someone else lined up for the job. Who’d be here to tell us all to hurry up then?” said Jasper. He threw a jovial wink over his shoulder as he scurried back to his hansom.

 

Lauchlan blinked in confusion, staring at the little package for a moment before he realised the dismissal and waved Jasper off.

 

He unfolded the paper, and found a hot meat pie nestled within.

 

He took a sniff, but he was so clogged up he succeeded only in making an unpleasant wet noise, and smelled nothing. Resolutely he bit a chunk from the pastry. It was chicken and sweet corn, his favourite.

 

He definitely owed Jasper his thanks, and an apology for his silence.

 

An hour later one of the other cabbies took him aside, an old, wizened fellow whom had probably predated him and Percival both, and spoke to him about his choice of horse.

 

“She stepped in a hole. I only had her at a walk but she carried on like the dickens, and she won’t put her weight back on it. She’s near to lame lad, that leg definitely needs seeing to,” said the cabbie, pointing and gesticulating with great fervour.

 

Lauchlan soothed and reassured him that his concerns would be seen to as best he could, and set the cabbie up with another younger beast. Camilla, as he was distraught to realise, was indeed limping as she was unhitched from the old mans hansom.

 

One of her knee joints was badly inflamed, and her hoof couldn’t seem to flex and point properly, making her limp heavily as he walked her into her stall, each step ponderous and unsteady.

 

She shifted in obvious discomfort, her head lowered, and eyes dull and listless. Lauchlan struggled to check her hooves, and struggled to so much as touch her injured limb as she flinched away from him. After plying her with treats and reassurances he managed to take a look at it, though not as closely as he’d like, and could find nothing overtly wrong. Her hooves seemed healthy, no chips or abrasions to speak of, there was nothing lodged beneath her shoes, which themselves were quite new and well fitted, and there was no sign of cold damage or infection. Lauchlan gave her knee a cursory examination, but was unwilling to prod too deeply, so he settled for wrapping it in a pressure bandage, hoping that would offer her some form of support. As much as he loved the beasts, he had little knowledge of their internals. He struck her from the rest of the weeks rotation, and hoped she’d be well again after some bed rest, or stall rest as the case may be.

 

With the evening came the distribution of pay packets, and the boys jeered and squabbled as they elbowed one another into a vague semblance of a line.

 

He eyed them cautiously. Finch and his cohorts were evenly dispersed throughout the line, Finch himself at the back, which seemed rather uncharacteristic. Lauchlan swallowed, suspicious at their behaviour, but said nothing. They deserved the benefit of the doubt, and he reckoned that they’d be easier to deal with one at a time, at any rate.

 

He set up the desk, ledger, a slate, some chalk, the payslips and the pay itself, and began going through the arduous process of adding, counting, and distributing payment as the boys jostled and tried to con him out of more money than they were due. It was not as bad as it had been, a couple of them deliberately disrupted his arithmetic by chattering on about numbers which had nothing to do with the sums he was performing, but that aside they were positively well behaved, the younger ones especially. It was gratifying that at least something had gotten through to them.

 

He sent the troubled boys to stand aside, unwilling to risk botching their lowered payment. They seemed oddly pleased with themselves as they were dismissed, but Lauchlan hadn’t the chance to look too deeply into it as the next boys in line jostled for their pay.

 

He worked through the lot of them, the ten on probation excluded, it seemed very likely that something was off. He couldn’t explain what exactly, but many of the boys seemed unwilling to leave the desk, when normally they’d be bolting out the door. He shooed them out none the less, and called the ten trouble makes to the desk.

 

Finch had an ugly smirk plastered across his face, and his cohorts seemed to share his sentiments.

 

Lauchlan rationed out Finches payment first and foremost, careful that he didn’t see so much as a penny more than he deserved, and handed his packet over, which the boy took with a derisive scoff. The others were more polite about the whole affair, but their grins were forced and mirthless.

 

He turned his attention to Gould and the few younger boys who stood silently behind him. The boys seemed pale and frightened.

 

“Are you all right there? No trouble?” he said.

 

“No! No sir,” said Gould, his eyes wide as he rapidly shook his head.

 

His friends chorused in agreement, but Gould’s expression remained odd. He seemed to gaze furtively at Lauchlan, flicking his eyes away only briefly to look in Finch’s direction. He raised a hand to one of his pant pockets, and patted it. He then shoved his fingers inside, dragged out a handkerchief, pressed it into his other hand, and then put it into the opposite pocket. He put his fingers back into his pocket, and pointed at Finch surreptitiously with his thumb.

 

Lauchlan raised his eyebrows at him, and Gould relaxed a little, satisfied that Lauchlan had noticed whatever it was the odd gesture was supposed to mean.

 

One of Finch’s cohorts bumped Gould on his way to the back of the line, and Gould squeaked in fear. The other boys sniggered and Finch’s smirk bloomed into a truly nasty looking sneer, his mouth lopsided and baring his canines. The boys shied away from him, guarding their pockets.

 

“I’d like it if you would empty your pockets, boys,” Lauchlan said, hoping that he’d interpreted the gesture correctly.

 

If the dawning look of horror on their faces was any indication, he’d say he had.

 

“You, you can’t do that to us,” stuttered Finch, his face falling.

 

“You won’t be leaving until you do,” he said, his constant sniffle undermining any threat.

 

“No, no you can’t do that, you dirty, you bugger!” Finch cried, and this time he did stamp his foot. His cohorts stared at him in horror, took a step away from him, an eight foot berth forming around him.

 

Lauchlan swallowed down a lump of panic. It was impossible for Finch to know the truth, for him to even suspect what he and Corbin had done. He was just angry and lashing out with the most insulting name he could think of. He had to be, otherwise Lauchlan would be in an institution already.

 

He struggled to take a deep breath, but the mucus in the back of his throat caught it in its tracks, and he burst out in a small coughing fit.

 

“You can empty them here, or we can go to the police station and empty them there,” he croaked after a moments pause, and the boys blanched.

 

Gould and his friends obediently emptied their own pockets onto the desk, revealing little more than their own pay, two handkerchiefs, a few wooden buttons and an apple core in a paper bag. Finch’s cohorts followed suit, and the difference was staggering. They had a lot more than just their own pay in their pockets, in fact, Lauchlan was certain that they had thrice what they should have had.

 

“Have you been pick pocketing?” Lauchlan said in outrage.

 

The boys looked down, shame faced, but Finch jutted his chin up and glowered.

 

“It’s my money,” he said.

 

“It certainly is not, and I’ll have it on the desk now or you’ll be in irons before the day is out,” Lauchlan spat, incensed.

 

The other boys glared at him, trying to stare him down, of all the ridiculous things. The boy gave up after a little while, and flung a fistful of coins to the table with a haughty scoff.

 

Lauchlan tried to calm himself, breathing as deeply as his body would allow him, and recounted the coins. He put the pilfered money aside and gave each boy what he was supposed to have received in the first place. Finch snatched his with a smirk.

 

“You should be ashamed of yourselves. You shan’t be welcome here any longer,” Lauchlan said, sniffling unconsciously. He had hoped that it wouldn’t come to this, but there was no way he could tolerate this sort of behaviour. There was something terribly, horribly wrong with Finch’s demeanour, and he was dragging the other boys down with him.

 

Finch blinked in shock, his face pale, and the other boys went faint.

 

“You can’t sack us. You’re not allowed,” Finch squawked, his fists clenched tightly and his eyes bulged in anger.

 

“Of course I’m allowed,” said Lauchlan.

 

“But, but, you’ve never sacked anyone,” said one of the others, and there was a murmuring of agreement.

 

“Just, just because I didn’t wish to didn’t mean I wasn’t allowed. You need to go now, or, or I’ll call for the police,” said Lauchlan, as firmly as he could manage with his head so clogged.

 

Finch gaped, his eyes boggling and face pale. The other boys dragged him out as they fled from what used to be their place of employment.

 

“Thankyou sir,” murmered Gould, and Lauchlan forced an empty smile onto his face as he returned the boys possessions and sent them on their way.

 

Heavy hearted and weary beyond words, he flopped to the desk and took out the ledger. He struck off the boy’s names, and made all the required annotations. He locked the stable up, and made the trek home, his guilt festering in his stomach.

 

It had been his responsibility to watch over those boys, and he’d failed them miserably. He could have nipped this in the bud, he could stopped those boys from throwing their lot in with a bad influence like Finch, perhaps he could have stopped Finch from turning out the way he had, and yet he’d let it all rot and fester beneath his nose until the stench had sunk in too deep to wash out of them.

 

Those boys would be in the workhouse by next week.

 

When he arrived home, he found a yellow telegram slip in the letter basket. It had arrived only a few hours ago, if the timestamp was to be believed.

 

_L HUXLEY **STOP** MASTER HAS BUSINESS IN TOWN **STOP** MUST WORK BUT CAN MAKE TIME SUNDAY **STOP** MEET AT ADMIRALS ARMS TWO PM **STOP** IGNORE IF ACCEPTABLE REPLY IF UNFEASIBLE **STOP** MOTHER SENDS HER LOVE **STOP** KIND REGARDS T ADDERLEY **STOP**_

Lauchlan swallowed heavily. The Admiral’s Arms was a public house just a short distance away from his home. On the ground floor of the establishment was reputable pub, clean and well kept, with palatable food, a relatively large selection of beverages and wholesome entertainment. The innkeep ran the place with his wife and daughters, and on the whole the place was affordable, clean and well furnished.

 

He’d remembered it well, it was the same place that the boss had chosen to host his Stag, and the same place he’d drunk himself silly and awoken in Corbin’s bed.

 

He didn’t know how exactly that had happened. He still couldn’t remember much of anything but the shameful acts he had perpetrated after he had found his way into it. But the fact stood that he must have met Corbin at the Arms, and now his stepfather wanted to meet him there. He wanted to meet in the exact place where he had gone home with another man and done unspeakable things that had left him black and blue.

 

He couldn’t, he couldn’t do that. It was, it was unthinkable, obscene! He couldn’t possibly do such a thing.

 

Oh, but Christ, what else could he do? He hadn’t seen his stepfather in almost a year now, and he knew how hard it was for him to make the time when his work kept him so busy. He couldn’t take him anywhere else, all the other establishment he knew of were either too disreputable or too expensive for the both of them to afford. He’d invite him to his home for tea but he’d usually insist on that after a meal anyway, and he’d know something was wrong if they went straight there.

 

Oh lord, what if the innkeeper already knew? It was possible, if not probable. He had no real memory of what he’d done at that pub after he’d gotten drunk, he could’ve done anything.

 

There was a clattering in the scullery, and Lauchlan hurriedly shoved the telegram into his pocket and wrangled his breathing into submission, hoping the fear didn’t show on his face.

 

Nobody knew about him and Corbin. If anyone did, he’d be in an institution by now, surely. Nobody had attempted to blackmail him or extort him for what money he had and they certainly had nothing to gain by holding their tongue. He was positive, absolutely positive, that nobody knew.

 

He had to be.

 

Theresa bustled in, dinner tray in hand, and sighed as she found him standing in the middle of the hallway.

 

“What on earth are you standing about for, daft thing,” she tutted, and before Lauchlan could say a thing to the contrary she’d steered him into the parlour, forced a blanket round his shoulders and planted him into a seat before the fire. She put the dinner tray across his knees to keep him there, and turned her attention to the fire, which she stoked and fuelled into a blaze.

 

She went through the house on a warpath, locking every window tight and drawing the thick drapes closed to keep the warmth in. She stoked every fire, tested the doors and wedged old newspaper beneath the jams to keep the draft out, and finally returned to him, where he was still a little dumfounded by it all.

 

“Eat now, silly,” she scolded, lifting the cover from the tray.

 

It was a simple, robust meal, thick chicken broth with parsley, a thick slice of wholemeal toast and a strong cup of tea made with lemon and honey.

 

“Breathe in the steam for a bit, it’ll help your head,” she said, tucking the cover under one arm and shooing Vagabond away as she tried to stick her nose into the broth.

 

“Theresa, this is hardly the first time I’ve ever been sick. I do know how to look after myself, believe it of not,” Lauchlan said, though his stuffy nose and constant sniffling rather undermined the point. His head reeled, as he wondered how Theresa had known. He hadn’t said anything about being sick to her, and he hadn’t seen her since the day before yesterday. Surely she hadn’t heard him through the walls, there were more than four layers of brick and plaster between them.

 

Theresa stiffened her back, blushing furiously all the while, and cleared her throat.

 

“Yes well, don’t think I didn’t hear you coughing and sneezing away as you were leaving for work this morning,” she said, fussing with the tray cover.

 

“You heard me as I went to work, at five in the morning?” he said

 

“I, I was up early, to prepare for the dustman. You should eat, build your strength up,” she urged.

 

“I promise I’ll be better in the morning. There’s no need to mother me, Mrs Huxley has the position filled,” he laughed, a grin cracking his face.

 

“I, yes, well,“ Theresa stuttered, her face turning scarlet.

 

“Thankyou for dinner, this is just what I needed,” he said hoping to soothe her embarrassment a little.

 

“Well, you’re welcome, see to it that you get an early night,” she said, and fled with as much dignity as she could muster, straight backed and cheeks aflame.

 

Lauchlan laughed despite his best efforts, and tucked in.

 

True to word, the steam did clear his head, of more than just his cold.

 

His stepfather was coming to see him, and that was a wonderful, welcome opportunity. The location was regrettable but he’d just have to keep a stiff upper lip about it. Nobody knew about the debt and no one was about to find out. He’d just have to remember that and he’d be fine.

 

The morning brought Saturday, and while not nearly as anticipated as their day off on Sunday, Saturdays offered their own welcome reprieve. The day started later and ended earlier than work on a weekday, and he managed another hour of sorely missed sleep, which made no attempt to escape him this night. Although, he did cough himself awake a several times.

 

The morning found him in better spirits, his skull was no longer felt like it was rammed full of so much cotton, and his throat wasn’t so raw, but his nose still ran unceasingly, much to his displeasure.

 

Again he bundled up and headed off. Today was to be a busy day. A good bit of busy work was just what he needed right now, just the thing to keep his mind off tomorrow.

 

He’d arranged for the company farrier to come round after the horse had thrown its shoe. If one was ready to come off odds were the rest were on their way out as well, and he had no intention in letting another horse be decommissioned, two was more than enough already.

 

The farrier was a middle aged man. He had a little grey in his hair and a few crows feet ‘round his eyes. He was tall, broad, barrel chested and he carried a hundred pound anvil about as easily as a lady would a coin purse.

 

He’d been working for the company on contract for a little longer than Lauchlan had, and knew his trade very well. Lauchlan needed to do little but point out those in the direst need of the man’s attention and leave him to his work. The busy work came in trying to work the schedule around him, making sure that every horse had a chance to be seen to while ensuring that there were always hansoms out and about at work, and horses in the stable that were ready to be swapped out when they were needed.

 

The morning was spent in pleasant preoccupation, his thoughts too focused on his work to be spared on worry, but there was a lull just after lunchtime, and the farrier took him aside.

 

“What’s going on with that one, I haven’t seen her leave all morning,” he said, pointing at Camilla with the hoof file.

 

“She’s off rotation, I was hoping you’d look at her actually, but we need to take care of the ones on rotation first,” he said.

 

“We’ve got a little time now, haven’t we?” he said.

 

Lauchlan mentally reviewed the schedule as it stood, and then nodded his assent.

 

He brought her out of her stall, and the farrier scowled darkly as he saw her unnatural, limping gait.

 

“She’d been favouring it like that for a few days now. Stepped in a hole, according to the cabbie. I thought she must’ve twisted it, or sprained it or some such, so I put her on rest,” Lauchlan said, he stroked her neck in a futile attempt to ease her pain.

 

The farrier clicked his tongue, and unwrapped her knee with little ado. He hissed as he inspected the swelling, and gently prodded at it with his fingers.

 

Camilla nickered sharply at the contact, flinching away and stamping harshly at the ground with her hind legs, scraping a hoof back and forth over the flagstones in a threat to kick.

 

The farrier jumped back, and Lauchlan took hold of her by her halter and steadied her head, murmuring soothingly until she calmed down.

 

“Well, looks like she’s a little tender,” grumbled the farrier, and Lauchlan snorted in laughter.

 

The rest of the exam was performed with the aid of a length of soft wooden dowelling. The farrier poked and prodded at her limbs, trying to make her shift her weight, and seeing how she compensated for the shift in posture.

 

“Just how deep was that hole, exactly?” he asked, giving Camilla another thoughtful prod and snatching the dowel back when she chomped her teeth at it.

 

“I don’t know to be honest. It couldn’t have been that deep though, aside from that limp she hadn’t a mark on her,” Lauchlan said with a helpless shrug.

 

“At this age the back step would be serious enough,” grunted the farrier as he carefully examined her swollen knee, his brow furrowed.

 

“Just how serious do you mean here?” asked Lauchlan, frantically.

 

“I don’t think it’s a pulled muscle, I think it’s a fracture. She’s got nasty arthritis in all her knees and coming in on her fetlocks, and her cartilage is just, gone. It’s pretty bad truth be told,” said the farrier.

 

“A fracture? From one misstep? Are you sure? She was only going at a walk, you can’t break a leg at a walk, surely?” Lauchlan said, rubbing her nose in sympathy.

 

“A healthy horse won’t, but at her age? Her bones are like peanut brittle, just apply enough pressure from the right angle and _chick,_ ” he made an unpleasant cracking noise in the back of his throat, and mimed breaking a biscuit in half.

 

“Well, we have to do something about it, surely? She can’t go on like this. What do you think, a splint? Pasteboard?” Lauchlan said, rubbing her nose in sympathy.

 

“I’m afraid that there really isn’t anything you can do when she’s so long in the tooth. If she were a few years younger you might have a chance at working her through it, but she’s gone well past that point now. To be honest it’s pretty impressive that she wasn’t put to pasture years ago. She’s a tough old thing, that’s for sure,” said the farrier with a shake of his head. He gave Camilla’s shoulder an affectionate pat, and snatched his hand back when she loudly gnashed her teeth.

 

“Nothing? Nothing at all?” Lauchlan said, his heart sinking into his stomach.

 

“There’s nothing. Nothing but the knackery at any rate,” he said, rubbing a rag between his hands.

 

Lauchlan looked down, avoiding the man’s eyes and sniffed despondently. He knew that this was coming, but he had hoped that he’d have more time, a month at the least. But at this rate, well, there was no way around it. The company had no use for horses that couldn’t work, and there’s no way he’d be able to sell a lame horse, at least not in one piece.

 

The farrier coughed to get his attention, and he looked up. The rugged tradesman gave him a sympathetic look, his eyes warm, and clapped him on the arm.

 

Lauchlan flinched.

 

“Look I’m sorry mate. I know they can be easy to get attached to and all. Look, she’s still got a good pair of shoes on her, I can take them off, cold hammer them and put them on that sorrel that needs them. It’ll save a shilling or two for a new yearling,” he said, affably patting his arm.

 

Lauchlan nodded his assent, if only to escape the transparent pity. He held Camilla’s head steady and kept her attention on him as the farrier cautiously handled her lame leg, pausing for a moment to see if she was still intent on kicking, and set to work with a pair of nail pincers. With a little bribery on Lauchlan’s part the job was done easily enough.

 

She stood strangely, pawing at the ground and shifting her weight tenderly from leg to leg, unused to the sensation of standing bare hoofed after a lifetime shod in iron. Lauchlan stroked her shoulder and murmured apologies into her ear, her milky eyes blinking slowly as she settled. He returned her to her stall, watching with amusement as she pawed delicately at the sawdust, seeming to be fascinated by the texture of it.

 

“You’d best take her soon, no need to draw it out and let her suffer,” said the farrier, the huge horseshoes looped around his forearm like bracelets.

 

“I’ll take her next week,” said Lauchlan.

 

“I wouldn’t wait that long. She could go down at any time like this, and I doubt you’ll get her up again,” said the farrier.

 

“Monday then,” croaked Lauchlan.

 

The farrier nodded, satisfied with that.

 

“Mix a stick of opium with black treacle and feed that to her before you shift her. It’ll take the edge off her pain and make it easier to shift her,” he delivered the parting wisdom over his shoulder, and went back to his work.

 

Lauchlan sniffed, and blew his nose twice before he reclaimed the ability to breathe through his nostrils. He watched as Camilla put her head down and nibbled placidly at her hay, unaware that her fate had just been decided for her.

 

She deserved better than this.

 

He tried and failed to reabsorb himself in his work as the hours crawled by. Eventually the lockup came and he turned toward home, dragging his heels all the way as if refusing to acknowledge the passage of time would put a stop to it. A chill wind had picked up and he began shivering in earnest.

 

Like it or not, the minutes plodded by, and he found himself at his door, like the end of every other day. He dragged himself through the usual chores, lit the fires, fed Vagabond, brewed some tea and flopped down in the front parlour to flip listlessly through the evening paper, his teacup at his elbow.

Theresa let herself in a while later with the dinner tray in hand and a crease in her brow.

 

“That flu has only gotten worse now,” she said, clicking her tongue in consternation.

 

“It’s not so bad,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, he didn’t feel any worse than before, at least not physically.

 

“You look like you’ve been put through the wringer, you do. You ought to see a doctor,” she said, insistently tugging his paper out from his lap and setting the tray on the coffee table in an unsubtle ploy to shift him closer to the fire.

 

“I know,” he grumbled. At this point he knew better than to fight back and regretfully pried himself out of his comfortable position and moved to where Theresa wanted him.

 

“So you’ve made an appointment then?” she said, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. She lifted the cover from the tray set it across his lap. Soup again, barley this time and a cup of pungent tea, for which his sinuses were already grateful.

 

“Theresa, I can eat at the table,” he groused. He had no desire to be mother henned now, by Theresa of all people. All he needed was a little time and a good sleep, but fate seemed to be conspiring against him ever receiving any.

 

“So you haven’t then,” she glowered, a hand on her hip, the newspaper held hostage as she stared him down.

 

“No I have not, and I’d thank you not to henpeck me about it,” he snapped irritably.

 

Theresa went red in the face, her expression drawn tight. She straightened her back and crossed her arms, the bulky tray cover in held outward like a shield.

 

“You’re ill, you need to see a doctor,” she pressed.

 

“All I need is for this week to end, not for you to nag at me,” he snapped. He did not have time for platitudes and niceties, and he wasn’t about to fork over a weeks wages just for somebody to hem and haw at him and send him home with an earful of condescending advisements and a bottle of cod liver oil. He could that himself, thankyou very much.

 

Theresa looked rather offended by the brush off, and Lauchlan’s anger rushed out of him like so much hot air.

 

“Look, Theresa I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he muttered, rubbing at his forehead as an ache started blooming behind his eye.

 

“I’d say you did,” Theresa huffed, though she was chiding more than she was affronted.

 

“It’s been a long day, could you possibly forgive me?” he sing-songed the last few words, hoping to make her laugh.

 

She didn’t, but she did smile, her cheeks heating up again. She rolled up the newspaper and playfully smacked him on the wrist with it.

 

“I’ll have to think about that,” she said with a grin, relinquishing the paper at last, and went on her way for the evening.

 

Lauchlan said his goodnights and turned back to his tea. He hadn’t the foggiest where that had come from, he wasn’t usually the sort to snap, but it had just spilled out before he could stop it. He knew that Theresa was only worried for him, even if her mothering was rather presumptuous. He didn’t need to be coddled, he wasn’t a boy anymore, though the sentiment was kind all the same.

 

He ate his soup diligently, though he didn’t appreciate it as it deserved. It was hearty and peppery, but while it warmed him it scratched at his sore throat. The tea helped soothe that ache, but his sinuses began to clog again as soon as the cup was emptied, and he sniffled miserably. Perhaps he needed the doctor more than he thought. The usual remedies weren’t sticking and he’d hate to pass anything on to his stepfather.

 

His stepfather, he’d almost forgotten about that. Lord, it was tomorrow and all, and he hadn’t had time yet to get his things ready. It was too late to get his Sunday clothes laundered. The Chinese laundry was closed on Sunday afternoons, and there was usually a few day’s wait at least before he got anything back from them. He’d just have to press them himself and hope no one would notice the difference. He needed to tidy up and clean up the tea things. It had been a long while since anything but the teapot and a lone cup and saucer had been used, and his stepfather always made time for a cup of tea when he visited. He didn’t want to give the wrong sort of impression. Most of his table settings, silverware and other such things were in the same condition, come to think of it, and Lauchlan sadly resigned his lazy Sunday morning away to the housework. It was going to be a busy day tomorrow whether he liked it or not, it seemed, and then on Monday, well...

 

He didn’t want to think about Monday.

 

He tipped back his head and swallowed the last, lumpy dregs from his teacup and went about cleaning up his dishes. He left a penny on the platter instead of a halfpenny, and scribbled out a note to Theresa, apologising again for his outburst. He’d probably find a halfpenny on his plate tomorrow, but he felt better for trying anyway.

 

He went through all the typical remedies for colds in his preparations for bed, digging the cod liver oil out from the back of the pantry and choking down a spoonful (it was just as disgusting as he remembered), the vick’s from his dresser and setting a pitcher of water on the hearthstone, lacing it with salt and a little bit of sweet smelling tree oil.

 

He bathed, the hot water made him drowsy and keenly aware of every ache and pain as the heat of the water steamed it out of him. He just about fell asleep in the tub, and it was only the promise of bed that dragged him from it.

 

He went out like a light the moment he crawled beneath the covers.

 

Vagabond woke him around six or so by sticking her nose into his face and yowling, her breath stinking of fish and something dead she’d felled in her nightly patrol of the pantry.

 

Lauchlan spluttered and shot upright, wiping his mouth and gagging. Vagabond was dethroned from her place on his chest and tumbled to his lap, sinking her claws into his thighs as she got to her feet. She fluffed herself up and spat indignantly at the treatment, and pawed at his chest.

 

“You’re worse than a baby,” groaned Lauchlan, groggy and disorientated by the rude awakening.

 

Vagabond continued to yowl for her breakfast, and circled round and round in his lap.

 

Lauchlan yawned sleepily, and was rather distressed to discover that it was his own breath that stunk of fish, and not Vagabond’s. Lauchlan gagged in disgust and snapped his mouth shut. Cod liver oil, oh why oh why did cod liver oil have to be the only thing that seemed to help with colds at all? It was disgusting, and his stomach rolled in agreement as he dragged himself away from the bed’s sweet siren call and trudged down to the pantry, Vagabond trotting briskly ahead of him.

 

A much chewed pile of bone and feathers took pride of place on the scullery floor, just as he’d dreaded. Vagabond proudly padded over to it, and bent down to gnaw at what he presumed to be an ex-pigeon.

 

“Oh get off that. It’s bad enough you get me out of bed for this, the least you an do is spare me more mess,” he groused, shooing and clapping his hands at her until she relinquished what was left of the corpse.

 

He fetched a broom and swept the worst of the mess onto a sheet of yesterday’s newspaper. He folded the lot of it up and put it outside to deal with later. Vagabond mewled, firmly planted in front of the pantry and she looked pointedly at him.

 

“You can’t tell me you’re still hungry after making all that mess,” Lauchlan said, glaring at her.

 

Vagabond mewled hungrily, loudly proclaiming the insubstantial quality of pigeons.

 

Lauchlan sighed and sniffled miserably as his illness decided to remind him of its presence, his nose dripping, his head stuffy and his throat aching with every swallow. He forced himself to open the pantry, and measured out another spoonful of cod liver oil. Vagabond perked up, mewling with interest as the scent wafted down to her.

 

“Believe you me, not even you would want any part of this,” muttered Lauchlan, and knocked back the spoonful before he could convince himself he didn’t need it. He grimaced and gave a full body shudder as the taste of it lingered. He rinsed his mouth out with water from the pump before his stomach could rebel.

 

He fed Vagabond a bit of raw mutton and changed her water for fresh. He set some coals and kindling in the oven and lit it, setting a large pot full of water on to heat. He wearily clambered back up the stairs to the master bedroom and pulled on some warmer clothes and house slippers. Today was shaping up to be a very long day, and he already felt exhausted. His unmade bed seemed to taunt him, and he straightened out the blankets and quilt with much more haste than the hour warranted.

 

The pot of water was nice and warm when he returned to check on it, so he took it off the fire and replaced it with the teakettle. He fetched a mop and bucket and poured the water in, added some soap and got to work mopping the floor.

 

This wasn’t the first time Vagabond had brought in her catches, not by any means, but she usually didn’t make such a mess of things. She must have been hungry to have scoffed her kill then and there, though who knew what went on in the silly cat’s head. Could be her idea of decorating for all he knew. He just wished she could have chosen a different day to go fowl hunting, he’d have liked to have gone back to bed, if only for a little while longer.

 

The teakettle whistled for him as he was halfway through his task. He breaked from it gratefully, and brewed the tea as strong as he could make it.

 

By the time he’d finished nursing his morning cuppa, the ovens heat had dried most of the floor and the rest of the room was finished more quickly thanks to what little vigour the tea had granted him. Belatedly he realized that he had mopped in the wrong direction and trapped himself in the scullery until the floor dried, and he bitterly rubbed his forehead. He wasn’t stupid, honest to goodness he wasn’t, but he was certainly making a run of it today, and it was scarcely seven. At least Vagabond had dosed off beside the oven, the lucky little beast, and wouldn’t be spreading her dirty pawprints about the place. It was a small mercy, but far better than none, he reminded himself.

 

He eyed the cold closet, and considered what to eat for breakfast. He’d normally try to make a big breakfast on Sundays, if only for traditions sake, but he lacked the appetite today. His throat ached, his head was stuffy and his heart just wasn’t in it, especially not after cleaning up Vagabond’s leavings. He lifted the heavy latch of the cold closet and opened it again, checking that the block of tightly packed snow was still cold and whole. It was a little mushy, but would serve for another day or two before he worried about packing more.

 

He took an egg, sliced a hunk of bread, and went about making himself a simple breakfast of egg-in-basket, and yet more tea, which he consumed as the floor dried.

 

The morning became encompassed in a slowly mounting pile of busy work which he sneezed, coughed and hacked his way through, starting with the cutlery and working his way to through the rest of the house, tidying, polishing and dusting until the place looked properly presentable. The dust made his cough worse, and his eye watered from the intensity of his wrenching sneezes, and the combination of the two didn’t do his head any wonders. By the time he was anywhere done it was well past midday and he felt like he’d been picked up by some enormous hunting dog and shaken halfway to death. He’d collapsed in his chair and buried his nose in his fifth cup of tea for the day, but even that wasn’t helping his overflowing sinuses. He groggily blew his nose, and put his feet up, content to let the upholstery of his favourite armchair swallow him whole, or give it a very thorough go at it at least.

 

To think he wasn’t even done, he hadn’t pressed his clothes yet, and it was nearing time to leave if he wanted to beat his stepfather there.

 

He knew that it would was important, that he should do it, that he could do it if he just got off his arse and moved but he could scarcely summon the energy to escape the furniture’s tender embrace, let alone get out the ironing things and get to work on his Sunday clothes, and he still had to bathe and dress on top of that. He sniffed his tea, praying for the miraculous decongestive properties to take hold, but it didn’t seem likely. With a sigh he gulped the lukewarm brew down and pried himself from his chair to bathe. He’d pressed his Sunday clothes before he put them away last time, so with any luck nobody would notice.

 

He clumsily drew a shallow, lukewarm bath and scrubbed himself thoroughly, knowing that if he made it too comfortable he’d be liable to nod off in it. He groomed carefully and dressed, tugging and smoothing down the sleeves of the frock coat self-consciously. It was the nicest bit of formal wear he owned, but he always felt uncomfortable in the thing, like some circus animal stuffed into collar and ruff for the entertainment of the crowds. It fitted well enough and the tailor he’d bought it from swore he looked the part, but when he looked in the mirror he just looked wrong. His shoulders were broad and bulky, his legs disproportionately long and his face, well, he knew what it looked like. The coat didn’t help, the cut always drew the eye to all the wrong places and he looked lopsided, top heavy and oafish. He longed for the familiarity of his greatcoat and work boots. The smell that permeated them wasn’t the nicest, but at least he felt like himself.

 

He checked his fob watch against the hall clock, winding it carefully before slipping it into his pocket.

 

He heaved a fortifying breath, plopped his hat onto his head, slipped an extra handkerchief into his trouser pocket and headed for the Arms.

 

The Arms were a good twenty-five minutes walk from home, provided you walked at a decent clip. Lauchlan however, took around forty, and arrived a little past two.

 

The Arms was a large, three story building that dominated the crossroads it was built upon. The building was covered by pane glassed windows and sturdy wooden cladding. Signs hung above the street bearing loudly painted images of a plumed naval officers hat and a pair of flintlock pistols laying atop a flag. He’d been told once that it was named for some naval officer who had been killed in a sea battle, or perhaps a duel or some such but to be perfectly honest, Lauchlan hadn’t been paying much attention. The interior was a little cramped, tables for six or so took up most of the space, though there was a raised dais for entertainers to sing or perform parlour tricks upon and a small billiard table was placed at the far end of the room.

 

The place was rather quiet, empty exepct for a few young men playing cards with a pint at their elbows, and an old soak nursing a glass of spirits at the bar. Stepfather was waiting for him at one of the tables by one of the windows that overlooked the street, afternoon light spilling in and glinting off his pocket watch as he worriedly checked the time. Lauchlan swallowed guiltily, ashamed to have kept him waiting.

 

“Stepfather!” he called, his voice hoarse.

 

His eyes shot up, and he beamed at him, snapping his fob watch shut and throwing his arms open as he rose to greet him.

 

“Lauchlan, dear boy, how many times must I ask you to call me Theodore?” said Theodore, clasping both his shoulders warmly.

 

“You know that wouldn’t be proper of me,” Lauchlan said with a roll of his eye.

 

Theodore chuckled and shook his head, patting Lauchlans shoulders twice before clasping one of his hands in a strong handshake.

 

“You’re hardly a boy anymore Lauchlan, and you know it,” he said with a bemused smile.

 

“And yet you still call me one,” he laughed, and Theodore chuckled merrily along with him.

 

The argument was an old one, to the point where it had grown into a joke. His stepfather insisted that Lauchlan was a man in his own right nowadays and as such it was acceptable for him to address him by his first name, or his surname if he’d rather, but Lauchlan was loathe to.

 

He’d never really known his birthfather. Mother had told him stories of course, and he had vague recollections of a bristly man who smelled like sea salt and tobacco, but whether that was his memory or imagination he wasn’t sure. But, stepfather he did know, he remembered all time he spent tutoring him, playing with him and just taking the time to sit and talk to him, ever since he’d been a child. He remembered him courting his mother, making her laugh and smile and how happy she’d been when he’d asked her to marry him after a long, year of gently integrating himself into their lives. Stepfather was the only father Lauchlan had ever known. If he didn’t think it would upset his mother he’d have dropped the silly prefix from it years ago.

 

They sat back down by window, opposite one another. Stepfather was still dressed in his valet’s uniform, crisply starched white linens, pinstriped waistcoat, and black morning jacket. Unlike Lauchlan, Theodore looked smart and respectable in a suit, he belonged in the formalwear like a serpent in scales. Where Lauchlan was all pointy angles, Theodore was round and soft. He had a gentle, open sort of face, lined by age and dignified by experience. He kept his hair trimmed short, it was grey, but no thinner than it had been, and he cultivated a bushy moustache that seemed to increase in volume with every visit. Age had given him a bit of a belly, though not of unhealthy proportion. He was a little shorter than Lauchlan, and shrinking by the day if half of his complaints about his height could be believed.

 

“Are you feeling alright my boy? It’s not like you to be late,” said Theodore, his eyes creased in concern.

 

“I’ve felt better,” admitted Lauchlan with a small shrug of his shoulders, “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting, I didn’t mean to...”

 

“Pshaw, don’t worry about it. You’ve looked much better, to be perfectly honest. Feeling a bit under the weather today?” he asked.

 

“That’s one way of looking at it. It’s been a long week,” Lauchlan sighed, his shoulders sagging as he shifted on the chair, trying to get comfortable.

 

“And here you are chin wagging with me instead getting some rest, eh? I suppose my timing could be better. Ah well, at least the week is over now,” he said, nudging Lauchlans arm sympathetically.

 

Lauchlan hummed and nodded in agreement, but his mind wandered to Camilla’s fate the coming day, and he lost his appetite.

 

One of the innkeepers daughters wandered over, though Lauchlan couldn’t remember which, and went through the standard spiel of the kitchens current offerings.

 

Lauchlan requested the lightest offering of steamed shellfish while his stepfather opted for steak and kidney pudding, and insisted on a pint of stout porter for Lauchlan, despite the early hour.

 

“You need the building up, dear boy,” he said, overriding his complaints, and Lauchlan reluctantly agreed.

 

The lady left and Theodore cheerfully filled him in on all the goings on back home at the estate, from the state of the gardens and ponds to the gossip between the scullery maids, Lauchlan interjecting with a question from time to time. He didn’t care much for the gossip. Many of the people he’d once lived and worked alongside had since moved on, and the turnover of the lower staff was so quick that he had no idea who most of the people who stepfather chattered on about were. Even so, it was nice to hear how the old crowd was, and how the place had changed and yet remained much the same way it had always been.

 

The lady returned with their meals midway through a story about one of the kitchen hands and a crate full of turtles, and the conversation slowed as stepfather tucked in, and Lauchlan picked listlessly through his mussels.

 

Stepfather noticed, and frowned, coughing and looking pointedly at the pint that sat untouched on the table. Lauchlan sighed and sipped from it, the foam tickling his nose. He wasn’t much of a beer drinker, or a drinker of anything to be perfectly honest, but he reckoned that the porter was a good one. He’d remembered it being rather nice when he’d last...

 

He coughed, the beer going down the wrong way as he spluttered. He hastily returned the pint to the table and hid his face behind a handkerchief. He did not want to think about the last time he’d been here, not now, but the memories came anyway, and his cheeks blazed.

 

Stepfather leaned over and thumped his back, and Lauchlan coughed all the more, beer and phlegm dislodging from his throat and soiling the handkerchief. When his coughing spell was done, he sat back on his chair, giving Lauchlan the space he needed to collect himself. He eyed Lauchlan’s plate, noticing just how little he’d been eating, and his frown deepened even more, ploughing furrows across his forehead.

 

“Lauchlan, are you sure you’re up to being out and about? If you need rest then I shan’t keep you from it,” he said, his voice soft. Tenderly he reached across the table and rested a hand on Lauchlan’s forearm, squeezing it sympathetically.

 

Lauchlan looked away, ashamed at his weak will. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and sleep till this wretched illness was over, but this was more important than his petty shortcomings. He knew the hoops that stepfather must have jumped through to spend this time with him and he’d be damned if he’d squander it. It could be another year till he saw his family next.

 

“I’ll live, stepfather, don’t worry. I just drank to quickly, you know I’m not used to drink,” murmured Lauchlan.

 

Theodore winced, and his comforting grip tightened, before forcibly relaxing.

 

“Yes, I, how silly of me to forget. I, ah, I’m, sorry,” he said, and slowly draw his hand away.

 

There was an awkward silence as both stared at the table between them, Lauchlan attempting to suppress vivid, filthy memories and worrying at his lip.

 

“It’s alright, really, you’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Lauchlan said a moment later. His first experience with alcohol may not have been pleasant, but it hadn’t been as scarring as most assumed. He’d never drink brandy without getting a little ill, but other brews held no malice. He didn’t drink because the sensation of becoming drunk was intensely unpleasant and disorientating, he’d rather avoid it all together. The fact that he’d done, _that,_ while he’d been inebriated, the fact that he’d hurt someone, used someone under the influence had only strengthened that resolve.

 

“Very well. But Lauchlan, please, eat. You’ve barely touched a thing,” pleaded Theodore.

 

Lauchlan opened his mouth to protest, and then shut it again. He knew from experience that when is stepfather started fussing the only thing that you could do to calm him was to go along with whatever he suggested.

 

“So, you never did tell me why you were in town,” he asked, picking the flesh from one of the mussels and swallowing it.

 

“Didn’t I? Oh, well it’s nothing too interesting I’m afraid. The boy is to be married early in the spring, and while everyone in the household is running about trying to prepare for the wedding he decided that now would be the best time to look into making business investments. Business, at a time like this! Makes no sense at all if you ask me, but I’ve no idea what that boy thinks,” said Theodore with and exasperated roll of his eyes.

 

“He doesn’t confide in you?” he asked, frowning. On paper the valet’s duty was simple; manage the clothing and the masters private rooms, ensure that his master was presentable, care for his masters interest, and stand in at the dinner table when needed, but it was the unwritten duty that the valet would always lend his ear to the master’s troubles and act as a friend, advisor and confidant. The entire reason that the valets were so prestigious compared to the other staff was that they were so trusted and so valued by their masters, privy to secrets and intrigue that no other person would be entrusted with.

 

“Not anymore he doesn’t. To be perfectly honest, I’m worried for the boy. He’s scarcely your age, and he’s running off half-cocked like the world owes him all its riches. He wants to show up his father and his brothers, that much anyone can tell, but he’s so sure that he knows all there is to know that he listens to no one, takes advice from no one, consults with no one. He’s going to take the poor woman’s dowry and run the both of them into the ground, I just know it,” he said with a sigh.

 

“Surely his fiancé knows what she’s getting into,” Lauchlan said, consolingly. His stepfather would undoubtedly stay with the household when his master flew the coup, but he knew him well enough to know that he’d take his masters foolhardiness as a personal failing.

 

“Oh no doubt, but she’s not much better than the lad. She comes from a family of industrialists, low born but rich as Croesus. She’s probably the one that put the idea in his head to begin with. They’re looking at buying up the abandoned factories and refineries in Coalford, but what they plan on doing with them is anybodies guess,” he said, shrugging helplessly.

 

Lauchlan swallowed another mussel, and mused on the information. Whether the business venture worked or not, it would be good to see someone do something about the district.

 

“He won’t be breaking the bank if that’s all he’s after. Most of those places are crumbling apart,” said Lauchlan. He picked through his plate in search of a whole mussel, and was surprised to discover he’d eaten them all while they’d been chatting. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to stomach the whole plate. He reclaimed the pint and sipped it lightly.

 

“And that is exactly what worries me,” said Theodore with a despairing shake of his head.

 

They dropped the matter and sat in companionable quiet as Lauchlan slowly drained the pint, staring out the window and watching the city folk bustle by.

 

After a short volley of heartfelt ‘I must insist’ was won in Lauchlan’s favour, and Lauchlan arranged to pay the bill. He excused himself from the table and approached the barkeep, money purse in hand.

 

“Ah, Huxley is it? I haven’t seen you for a long while” said the barkeep, offering him a companionable smile.

 

“I do not often drink, not without an occasion at the least,” Lauchlan said with a shrug. He wasn’t surprised that the barkeep remembered him, it seemed the nature of barkeeps to have a nearly limitless memory for names, faces and favoured beverages.

 

“Just as well, the last I saw of you was that Stag, wasn’t it? I must say, I don’t much approve of the company you keep,” he said as the money changed hands.

 

“Company?” murmured Lauchlan. He tied to school his expression into neutrality, but he felt the colour drain from it. The man knew Corbin, and odds were he had a good idea o the things he’d done to Corbin, or may have had a good idea. Oh lord help him.

 

“Oh yes, those cabbie chaps are good business, but not an ounce of couth between them. Pestered my Gloria all night long, the dogs,” he said shaking his head and passing a few pennies change back to Lauchlan.

 

Lauchlan felt himself go slack. Jasper, he was talking about _Jasper_ of all people. He was safe, perfectly safe.

 

“It’s their nature I’m afraid. I hope I didn’t do anything foolish, it was a rough night, to my memory,” Lauchlan asked. Half of him didn’t care to know, but he’d never sleep soundly again if he didn’t ask what else the man knew.

 

“Oh no, I barely noticed you to be honest, too busy trying to keep the rest of the rabble under control. You had a seat at the bar, just about fell asleep in it at one point and trundled on home quiet as you please. Now, you’d best keep on, you look a little peaky,” the barkeep said, nodding his head pointedly in Theodore’s direction as he took up a pint glass to polish.

 

Lauchlan swallowed and murmured a hasty thanks as he went on his way, meeting his stepfather at the door and made their way out together.

 

“Would you like to come over for a cup of tea?” Lauchlan asked, politely.

 

Theodore consulted his pocket watch for a moment, and nodded his consent.

 

“It’ll have to be a quick one, I’m afraid,” he said.

 

The walked back to his terrace, Theodore making small talk and tapping his cane lightly against the cobbles as they made their way to his terrace.

 

Lauchlan made sure his stepfather was seated comfortably in the front parlour before retreating to the scullery to fix a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits, and brought the tea set out to the parlour, poured and served, and then finally sunk into his favourite armchair with a sigh of contentment.

 

Stepfather thanked him and took the tea sipping it lightly and watching as Lauchlan settled himself, his brow furrowed.

 

“Lauchlan, I didn’t want to bring it up at the Arms, but is there anything you’d like to talk about?” asked Theodore. He spoke softly, gently, the way one would to a frightened animal. He reached out, and placed a hand on Lauchlans arm.

 

The tea suddenly tasted off in his mouth. He swallowed thickly as he lowered the cup to the table, his hands suddenly weak.

 

“I’m just a little ill, it’s not serious I promise you,” stalled Lauchlan avoiding his stepfather’s eyes.

 

“Lauchlan,” the word was laced with warning, and Lauchlan flinched. That tone usually meant that someone was in hot water. “You’re not acting like yourself, you’re sick, tired, and distracted and you’re not eating like you should be. Is something wrong? Are you in some sort of trouble? You can talk to me I promise, I’ll not judge you for it,” he said soothingly.

 

“Stepfather, please! I swear to you nothing is out of the ordinary, it’s just been an awful week is all,” Lauchlan exclaimed, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

 

Theodore didn’t buy a bit of it, and tightened his grip on Lauchlan’s arm.

 

“Lauchlan, please. I’m worried for you,” he said, eye’s soft and concerned, his head lowered to meet Lauchlan’s eye.

 

Lauchlan looked away, guilt flooding his consciousness. How on earth could he tell them that he’d slept with another man? That he’d hurt that same man in ways that should never, ever have to have endured. They’d be so ashamed of him, if they didn’t have him committed out of sheer horror. He couldn’t tell, he wouldn’t. He loved them too much to cope with the rejection that would surely follow.

 

“Is there a woman involved?” he probed, and Lauchlan recoiled with shock.

 

“What on earth gave you that idea?” exclaimed Lauchlan.

 

Theodore shrugged his shoulders and gestured at the room around them.

 

“Your house is as clean as I’ve ever seen it, the chairs are drawn close around the fire and you look like you’ve been gnawing at that lip for hours on end. I’m not blind,” said Theodore.

 

Lauchlan sucked his bottom lip into his mouth self consciously, and then released it as soon as he realized what he was doing.

 

“I cleaned the house because you were visiting, not for a woman. I swear to you, there is no woman. It’s just been an awful week,” said Lauchlan, fumbling over the omission. While he’d never told anyone the details of his and Ida’s indiscretion, his stepfather did know that there had been a woman in his life, and of the aftermath when she’d left it.

 

“Well, why don’t you tell me about it?” said Theodore, gently.

 

Lauchlan swallowed again. He was tempted to, sorely tempted, but he could hardly tell him that he still suffered from childish night terrors, and was so weak willed that he’d let his fear get the better of him, that he’d hurt Corbin _again_. He should have been over such things.

 

“It’s just small things. A dropped axel, the boys squabbling, a horse falling ill. It’s nothing that’s unusual on his own, but it’s just one thing after another and they just won’t stop,” he said, omitting the bulk of the details. He was too ashamed of his utter failure to elaborate on the mess that was Finch, and too afraid that admitting just how attached and sentimental Camilla was would make tomorrow even more impossible.

 

“Well, if you say so,” sighed Theodore, though Lauchlan knew he hadn’t been believed.

 

They sat in awkward silence and drank their tea. Soon, Theodore set his empty teacup aside, and checked his pocket watch, sighing as he saw the time.

 

“I’m afraid that I really must take my leave. Oh, but before I forget,” he stood, and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, and withdrew a thick envelope.

 

“From the girls, they wanted to send their regards,” he said with a smile, passing the envelope over.

 

Lauchlan cradled the envelope in his hands, swallowing thickly before tucking it safely away. He went with his stepfather to the street, and waited with him as he flagged down a hansom and said his goodbyes.

 

Once he was safely alone again, he carefully slit the envelope open with a penknife and started reading. A knot of guilt squeezed around his throat as he read his mothers looping, untidy hand telling him of how much she and his stepfather thought of him, missed him and loved him, and his little sisters light, neat print that told him of many little adventures and misadventures she and her friends had been up to.

 

He was not flawless by any stretch of the imagination, but he hadn’t deceived his family so completely in all his life. Had he told his stepfather the full truth, had he gathered his courage and admitted to the depth of his depravity, these precious letters would not be in his hands. That he’d break their hearts so completely that they would no longer love him, no longer write him, no longer want _anything_ to do with him.

 

He put his head into his hands, his shoulders trembling. It was too late to undo the things he’d done, too late to forget but he had time to atone, still. Yet, atonement would never lift this stain from his consciousness. Silently, he wondered if he’d ever be able to look his mother in the eye without wondering what she’d think of him if she knew the truth, and he despaired.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure how I feel about this chapter. It’s probably been through the most changes, as it was originally plotted out to be very different, and replotted several times before I even started writing. When I did start writing old background details and flavour text demanded to be expanded into full fledged subplots and the chapter performed mitosis on me. Even now, the chapter just feels too damn long and the vestigial remains of abandoned plot points are sprinkled all throughout it, but I just can’t bring myself to prune it down in any significant fashion. I’m just too sentimental to be a good editor, I suppose. 
> 
> A big thankyou to those who have given kudos and please, don't be afraid to leave me your feedback, I appreciate all and any comments given, be they positive or negative.


	11. The Straw That Broke The Camels Back

Sleep was not easy to find that night, nor was it particularly kind. His conscious tore at him and kept him grounded to wakefulness as the hours crawled by. He wondered if this was some sort of penance for what he’d done to Corbin, but rejected the thought. There were no heavenly forces at work here, he’d made this mess himself. He tossed and turned until the clock chimed five and winced, wishing for just a little more rest before he arose and pressed on with his morning ablutions.

 

It was all he ever seemed to do in his adult life, break down, buck up, press on and start the cycle over again. Every time he dared to hope he was done with such childish things something new waltzed into his life and turned it upside down again. First Percival, then Ida and now Corbin, quicksilver, acid tongued, provocative Corbin. He was probably the cruellest yet, every visit kicking at the hornet’s nest.

 

His life was falling apart thanks to what he’d done to Corbin. What he’d done to him could ruin him, could rip everyone he loved away from him, could condemn him to a lifetime in the asylum and yet he wanted, needed, so _desperately_ needed something to cling to now.

 

He’d always been able to turn to his family for help, till now. Perhaps that was the reason why. Corbin was the only man who knew the truth, and god willing he was the only man who ever would. But that didn’t give him the right to dump all his baggage into Corbin’s lap. It was his burden, and after everything he’d done he had no right to shrug it off.

 

He forced a little toast down for breakfast, having the stomach for nothing else, and dragged himself to work.

 

To his dismay, he discovered that Camilla had gone down over the night. She was lying on her side, her powerful legs splayed out at odd angles and her neck curled toward her back. For a moment he thought she was dead, but her chest still rose and fell with her breath, and he didn’t know whether to be relieved or distraught by the implication. He banished the thought from his mind and sent the boys scrambling away from the spectacle, putting the morning chores into motion.

 

Once the day’s work was underway and the hour a little more decent, he left his instructions for the boys and went out with one of the cabbies for the apothecary.

 

The apothecary the company officially consorted with was starkly different from Corbin’s. It was smaller, but had a prime location on the city highstreet. It was far more modern and fashionable, the walls clad with sleek oak panelling, the counter tops with polished stone and the floor with lightly coloured ceramic tile. The walls were decorated with framed posters that advertised the miraculous properties of so-and-so’s elixir and somebody’s restorative and so much rubbish. Honestly, if half the claims purported by the so-called curatives in the posters were true, there’d be no disease left in the world. Lauchlan wasn’t stupid, and he’d been through enough illness to realise that if something claimed to cure everything, odds were that it would cure nothing but an abundance of currency.

 

The old widow that ran the place was just as sour as he remembered, and she snapped to hawklike attention as soon as the tinkle of the bell announced his entrance.

 

“What do you need?” she snapped, dashing any pretence of letting him browse.

 

Lauchlan cleared his throat and carefully picked his way through the shelves to come to the counter.

 

She looked him up and down speculatively, and huffed.

 

“If you’re wanting a linctus for that cough, we’re all out of the patent formula so you’ll have to settle for some of the local make. I would also recommend quinine tincture for fever should you feel it necessary,” she said, bruskly, and started shuffling about behind the counter for the items she had just prescribed.

 

“I don’t, I don’t need any of that,” Lauchlan said, waving hastily to get her attention.

 

“Oh? And what, pray, do you need?” she huffed, a hand placed imperiously on her hip.

 

“I just need a stick or two of opium is all,” he said, and withered beneath her stare.

 

“For influenza? I think not young man, I think not. Opium is the quieter of disease, not the vanquisher. You need something entirely different, perhaps...”

 

“The opium isn’t for _me_ , I’m buying it for...” Lauchlan interjected, desperate to get a word in edgewise.

 

“Don’t tell me _who_ it is for, tell me _what_ it is for. What precisely are you trying to _treat_ here?” she snapped, irritated at being interrupted.

 

“A horse,” Lauchlan exclaimed, equally irritated by this point. He just wanted to get this done, not to draw out every excruciating detail.

 

The shopkeeper gave him a withering glare and pursed her lips in supreme irritation.

 

“Do not give me cheek young man, or I shan’t hesitate to turn you out on your ear. What is _wrong_ with this horse?” she snapped.

 

“She broke a leg...”

 

“So put the poor animal out of its misery. No amount of opium can mend that _,”_ she said with a dismissive wave.

 

“Would you have me shoot her in the middle of the street?” Lauchlan snapped, “I have to move her to the knackery one way or another. I either walk her on that leg or drag her through the streets, what would you have me do?” he huffed, and rubbed tiredly at his forehead.

 

The woman harumphed and straightened her spectacles, glaring at him from down her nose.

 

“Precisely how much horse are you trying to treat?” she asked.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“The weight and build of the animal,” she drawled, a snicker hiding behind her flat tone.

 

“Ah. She’s a draught, I’d say sixteen, seventeen hands and around two thousand pounds, or maybe a little more,” he said, contritely.

 

The woman nodded and hummed before unlocking one of her cabinets and withdrawing several vessels and a scale. She weighed and measured out a good deal of opium, and sealed the dose in a glass jar.

 

“Now, this isn’t like morphine mind you so no trying to inject it. Oral application shall serve just as well with time. It will be a shilling and groat. You’ll get a farthing back when you return the receptacle,” she said, placing the dose onto the counter with a flourish.

 

“She’ll still be conscious after taking all this, won’t she?” Lauchlan asked, examining the bottle. There seemed to be quite a lot of it for a single dose, even for a one tonne draught horse.

 

“Certainly. Though, I wouldn’t recommend waiting around. Are you sure you won’t be needing any linctus?” she probed, a light scowl marring her face at being doubted so.

 

Lauchlan accepted that as about as much reassurance as he was going to get, payed, and escaped before the woman could try to sell him anything else. He didn’t much care for the patent medicines she constantly hawked, but hers was the only apothecary he was supposed to use for company spending and he swore the woman could smell a captive customer.

 

The cabbie had waited, despite his grumbling that he’d taken far too long, and took him back to the stables.

 

The boys had done most of the work they’d meant to while he’d been gone. Several had gathered around Camilla’s stall, and were murmuring amongst themselves.

 

“Is it dying, sir?” one of the boys asked. He was a little older than his fellows, but Lauchlan didn’t recognise his face.

 

“Yes, I think she is,” Lauchlan admitted it sadly, a weight settling in the pit of his stomach. This was really the end of it.

 

“Now, back to work with you lot, go on,” he shooed them off, and went round to one of the many cupboards of miscellany that were scattered about the place.

 

They had a couple of jars of black treacle, along with a several of dried fruit and a sack or two of cracked corn for treats. They typically used them as rewards when breaking in new yearlings, but it would be serving a very different purpose today.

 

He warmed the treacle up over a small flame, watered it down a little, and stirred in the opium till it was reasonably consistent.

 

Jar in hand, he let himself back into Camilla’s stall and crouched down beside her.

 

The stable boys had left her food and water, but it didn’t look as if she’d touched any of it. She was lying in much the same position he’d left her in, though her eyes were slightly opened and her uninjured legs were folded more closely to her body.

 

“Want a treat girl? You’ve got to sit up for it now. Come on, up” he said, wafting the treacle around in front of her nose.

 

She snorted, her nostrils flaring with interest. She champed her teeth a little and lifted her head up only to flop down again, her hooves scraping against the sawdust as she struggled to right herself.

 

Lauchlan set the jar down just out of reach and scurried round to her back. He braced his legs against the stall partition and heaved, supporting her head as she laboriously rolled onto her stomach.

 

“That’s the ticket now, good girl, good girl,” he praised, rubbing her neck in encouragement.

 

He picked the jar back up and crouched down beside her, spooning the treacle within her reach. She lapped at it slowly, and Lauchlan let her head droop against his side as she slowly consumed her favourite treat.

 

She ate slowly and steadily, the more she consumed the heavier she leaned against him, until he was about the only thing supporting her massive head. Her eyes were droopy and glazed over, her pupils blown wide, and her ears drooped lazily downwards. By the time she had licked the last dregs from the jar she seemed completely unaware of the world around her. She would have eaten the spoon if Lauchlan hadn’t held such a tight grip upon it, and as such managed only to give it a good chewing before he pulled it from her mouth.

 

The boys murmured between themselves as he performed the sad duty, ogling the sight from the floor.

 

He hadn’t the heart to scold them, he knew what a sight she was, so he put them to work. He looped a length of rope under her stomach put several boys on each end and put himself at her flank. They heaved and shoved and cajoled for a minute or two before Camilla got the message and took to her feet, tottering and swaying as her injured leg took its weight. She seemed not to be in any pain, but her leg was no less crippled, and her limp looked even worse now that she rested her full weight upon it.

 

He put a lead rope on her and cautiously walked her out to the yard. She didn’t fight it, but neither did she really respond to any of Lauchlan’s urgings. She seemed content to stand and stare blankly at nothing in particular, blissfully unaware of any of the commands he spoke. Lauchlan had to yank harshly on the lead rope, tugging the inebriated horse along as if she were a one-tonne pull toy. He lashed her rope tightly a hansom, took to the perch and steered them out at an easy, gentle pace.

 

Camilla’s gait was lackadaisical and tottery, her injured leg trembled and seemed ready to buckle from beneath her. Lauchlan lead her slowly and carefully, even when the people behind him made a fuss. He would not rush this, or else she might go down again, and he sincerely doubted he’d ever get her back up.

 

It took a good while to get to the knackery with Camilla staggering all the way. The knackery was on the outskirts of town, and even that seemed too close by all accounts. Lauchlan could smell the place long before he saw it. It had a nasty chemical smell that did little to mask the stench of viscera and spoiled meat that lingered over the grounds.

 

The complex was a small one, consisting of a long cobblestone courtyard flanked by several buildings; a small tenement, an imposing brick warehouse with a saw toothed rooftop and a narrow, muddy pen, with only a lean-to and an empty water trough to show that anything was expected to live there. There were no animals in the pen, but there was a sad row of horse-sized mounds by the door of the warehouse, concealed by thin sheets of tarpaulin and a light dusting of snow.

 

He pulled the hansom to a halt in the courtyard and Camilla walked clear into the back of it with a dull thump. He checked if she was alright, and then tied both horses to the fence surrounding the pen. He paced about the courtyard looking for any sign of the knackers. Eventually he found a bell cord attached to the wall of the warehouse and gave it a few sharp pulls.

 

After a few moments of clanging a man stuck his head out from one of the doors, and upon seeing him, wiped his hands on a rag and made his way over.

 

The only nice way to describe him would have to be unfortunate. The frank way to describe him would be unsavoury, unclean and generally unpleasant to be around. He was a weedy, oily looking man, with thinning hair and brown stained fingers. He was surrounded by an oppressive, stomach churning odour of spilled bodily fluid and who knew what else. He had a well chewed clay pipe clenched between his teeth. The cheap tobacco he puffed had stained his teeth yellow, and did little to help the smell.

 

“What can I be doing for you? ‘ere to sell?” said the knacker, slurring as he spoke around the stem of the pipe. He’d eyed the horses up and down, setting on Camilla.

 

“That’s the short of it,” Lauchlan said.

 

The two of them walked to Camilla’s side and the knacker made the usual examinations. He checked her teeth, her hooves, poked and prodded at the muscles of her shoulders and flanks and ran his hands through her mane and tail.

 

“I’d really just like to see her suffering end. She went down this morning and we only just managed to get her up again,” Lauchlan said, rubbing her nose sympathetically, and withdrawing his hand when she started to chew sloppily on his glove.

 

“With the ‘elp of a good deal of morphine, I see,” he slurred as he pulled opened her eyelids and examined her wide blown pupils.

 

“Well, no, well, we did give her some opium,” the knacker scowled darkly at the news, and Lauchlan couldn’t help his flinch. “We think her leg is broken, couldn’t get her to stand otherwise,” he said, rubbing at his neck self-consciously.

 

The knacker scowled again, and took a few puffs of his tobacco before turning to Lauchlan.

 

“Well that’s a bit of a problem, see, I have an arrangement with the ’ound association here. I sell them some choice meat for their dogs, they give me a good price. I can’t give them opium-tainted meat or they’ll have my ‘ide, and I’ll be out a buyer. I’d like to let ‘im sleep it off in the pen, but I have the feeling ‘e won’t survive the night,” he slurred, clamping the pipe between his teeth and puffing it sagely.

 

Lauchlan was inclined to agree with him, given the pitiful state of the shelter on offer.

 

“So I’m going to ‘ave to give you the piggery price. With the state of ‘is ‘ide and ‘is joints, eight pound is best for it,” he slurred.

 

“You can do better than that, surely,” Lauchlan said, frowning. A yearling of good draught stock would cost as much as seventy pounds, fifty if they waited till the spring and had a good bit of luck.

 

“In the spring, maybe, but now? Old animals go down to the frost every day, and we’re getting ‘em faster than my boys can render. We’ve ‘ad that lot dragged over since Saturday,” he said, waving at the row of horse-sized masses with the stem of his pipe. “Hence, eight pound.”

 

“Fifteen,” Lauchlan pressed, though he knew it lacked conviction. It felt surreal to be bartering over this, he was parting with an old friend and a loyal worker, but the knacker was buying little more than a collection of flesh and sinew. It hardly felt like a fair trade.

 

“Alright mate, I can do eleven and nine, but that’s the best price you’ll get anywhere,” he said.

 

Lauchlan sighed, mulling it over. It was the best offer he was likely to get. There were other knackeries but they were several hours ride away, and there was no way the Camilla’s opium fuelled daze would carry her that far. He agreed to the price and the knacker forwent the traditional handshake, thankfully.

 

Lauchlan lead her into the pen and removed her tack. She stood dumbly, gently rocking side to side and shaking her head as if she was being pestered by insects, though their were none to be seen.

 

He patted her withers and said his goodbyes. She tried to eat his gloves again, slobbering all over his hands. The knacker payed him with a fistful of silver coinage and a crumpled banknote that smelled of turpentine. Lauchlan counted it carefully, and with everything in order he escaped the stink of the wretched little yard with as much haste as he could manage.

 

A few minutes after he left the knackers yard behind him, there was a muffled but no less distinctive pop.

 

The gelding pulling the hansom startled a little, flinching and breaking pace. He tugged firmly on the reigns, pulling it to a standstill before it could work itself into a lather.

 

Lauchlan swallowed around the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, realizing just what the pop had been. His throat went dry, and he slackened his grip on the reigns. He hadn’t wanted to think about what was going to be _done_ to her, he’d done everything he could to keep himself from that very thing. But now it was _done_ , and he couldn’t stop bloody thinking about it.

 

He slid down from the perch. His collar suddenly felt constricting around his throat, so he yanked it open and braced his hands on his knees. He tried to breathe and not _think_ about it anymore.

 

It was rather futile.

 

He knew what was going to be done, he knew it was inevitable and it was a quick, clean and an awful lot kinder than the alternative, but his throat was tight and his breath came in ragged pants as the fact of what had just been done rattled ‘round his head like a rat in a trap, relentless and nagging.

 

The horse shuffled, snorting uncertainly at him as he panted.

 

He forced himself to straighten his back and school his expression. He took hold of the horse by its tack and did what he could to calm it down.

 

There wasn’t time for this, he had to push on, get back to his work.

 

There was wetness on his face that he refused to acknowledge, and he clambered back to the drivers perch and set for the stable at a hard trot.

 

The rest of the day was as gruelling as it was long. The boys had slacked off in his absence and he’d had to pick the pace up hard to compensate for the wasted time. The stable seemed too small, too loud, too much and his head throbbed with swiftly mounting anxiety. He sequestered himself away in the little office to do the bookwork for most of the afternoon, his sour mood curdling into a heavy weight that sat on his ribcage.

 

By the time evening saw fit to arrive the weather had cleared to the point of being almost pleasant. It was cold and a little foggy, but the sky could be seen peeking out between the drifting clouds, letting the soft colours of twilight peek through.

 

By the time he locked up and went staggering home, his head throbbed, his chest ached and his congestion was only getting worse. He unlocked his door to find that Theresa had stopped by early and stoked the fires to life. It was a little odd, since Theresa usually didn’t stop by until after he’d arrived home, but not unwelcome. He supposed that she had gone out a shopping trip, or some such thing, and stopped by on her way.

 

He peeled off his greatcoat and work boots, leaving the coat on its hook and his boots upside down on the rack, to keep Vagabond out of them. He didn’t want to find another pigeon in residence come morning.

 

He collapsed wearily into his favourite chair, rubbing at his temples. The smell of the knackery still seemed to cling his hands, to his clothes, to _him_ and while it was disgusting Lauchlan couldn’t summon the motivation to leave his chair and draw a bath. His head throbbed and his chest ached, and it felt like somebody had rammed a pound of glue down his oesophagus, so sluggish was his breathing. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep till Sunday but he couldn’t, because that niggling truth was still rattling round his brain.

 

 

She was dead, a noble, beautiful creature rendered down to little more than sinew, bonemeal and mincemeat, if they went even to that much trouble. A hard worker, a loyal companion, a _friend_ whose worth was measured as little more than dog meat and wood glue.

 

It just wasn’t _fair_.

 

Lauchlan tucked his legs up onto the chair, lowered his head to fit between his knees and linked his hands around his shins. He squeezed gently, his head between his knees and his legs with his arms. The position was humiliating, and shame burned in the pit of his stomach at the admission, but the sensation of pressure and the dulling of sound was a balm to the writhing, nagging sorrow that threatened to consume him. He hadn’t done this since he was a child, when the world had seemed too large, too loud, too dirty and just _too_ _much_ for him to endure, and he’d wanted nothing more than for it all to leave him alone.

 

The world wasn’t going to leave him be, he knew that just as well now as he did then. Even so, when somebody knocked on the front door just a few moments afterwards, Lauchlan felt like sobbing and screaming simultaneously. As the two urges battled for dominance the person knocked again, and again.

 

Lauchlan unfurled himself from the chair, and went to the door. He hoped it was just a chimney sweep plying his trade so that he could send them on their way and go back to ignoring the world’s existence, but the silhouette in the glass was unmistakable.

 

He swallowed around a lump in his throat, and cracked open the door to find Corbin on the doorstep, dressed more neatly than Lauchlan had ever seen. He had his unruly hair stuffed beneath a grey, woollen hat, and a proper suit coat beneath the green overcoat for once. He held the cane umbrella hooked over his right arm.

 

Corbin looked anxious, his face was more deeply lined than before and he was shifting his weight from foot to foot ever so slightly. His eyes snapped to Lauchlan the moment the door cracked open, and several new creases formed in his forehead.

 

“Corbin, I was not expecting...”

 

“You look like death warmed up,” Corbin said, flatly, and he shouldered his way past Lauchlan onto the landing without so much as a by your leave.

 

“Corbin please, I... This isn’t, this isn’t a good time,” Lauchlan pleaded, shutting the door and locking it so that they would not be overheard.

 

“For what?” Corbin said, one eyebrow hitching up.

 

“You know, I mean, to settle the, well,” Lauchlan gestured vaguely with his hands, and felt his cheeks glow and his stomach churn. He didn’t think he could engage in any sort of intimacy without throwing up or passing out, whichever came first.

 

Corbin stared at him, the other eyebrow joining its twin, and scoffed.

 

“You think I came here for _that?”_ he said, flatly.

 

“Well, why else would you come here?” Lauchlan said, shrugging and blushing sheepishly. Corbin made it clear that his apothecary kept him busy, and he was clear on the other side of town. It wasn’t as if he could just nip around for a cuppa whenever he felt like it, so it stood to reason that his visit had a particular purpose in mind.

 

There was a heavy pause, Corbin staring up at Lauchlan with an oddly blank look on his face, before he stiffly stuck out the arm that bore the umbrella.

 

“To return this,” Corbin said, tilting his head and levelling Lauchlan with an irritated glare. The one that usually meant that someone had performed an impressive feat of idiocy.

 

Lauchlan swallowed around the lump in his throat, and gingerly removed the umbrella from Corbin’s arm.

 

“Oh, ah. Thankyou, I must admit I rather forgot about it,” Lauchlan murmured, his cheeks glowing. He twisted the sleek canvas of the umbrella between his hands as a tense silence settled between them.

 

“Can I, can I get you anything?” Lauchlan stuttered, after the ever stretching silence became too much to bear. Corbin was just, _looking_ , at him. It was unnerving and cruel and Lauchlan just wanted the man to go so that he could humiliate himself in peace.

 

“When was the last time you ate?” Corbin asked rather abruptly, and he looked Lauchlan up and down.

 

“I beg your pardon?” Lauchlan said, unsure of why Corbin was suddenly interested in his eating habits.

 

The glare redoubled, and Lauchlan shrank away, turning to have his back to the wall.

 

“Breakfast,” Lauchlan said. With everything that had gone on, he’d lost any notion of appetite.

 

“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase, starve a fever, feed a cold?” Corbin drawled, crossing his arms over his chest and staring him in the eye.

 

“Of course,” Lauchlan said, sniffling. It was one of the many phrases and sayings that mothers parroted to their children whenever they came down with something, and his was no exception.

 

“Then what happened here?” Corbin asked, and before Lauchlan could properly react he’d hooked his fingers around the waistband of his trousers and tugged on it. The trousers usually fit quite snugly, but Corbin hooked two fingers on the waistband and tugged it outwards by a noticeable amount.

 

“I know there used to be another pound or two here, what did you do with them?” said Corbin, one eyebrow raised mirthfully.

 

Lauchlan flushed uncomfortably at the sudden contact and his head swam for a moment before he pulled away, self consciously adjusting his clothing.

 

“Corbin,” he croaked, the name sticking in his throat, “what do you want? I really, now’s not a good time,” he stuttered.

 

Corbin’s glare heated and he recrossed his arms.

 

“Not a good time for what exactly? Are you expecting someone?” Corbin asked, he wasn’t cross exactly, but he did seem rather disapproving.

 

“Corbin, please just go. I want...” Lauchlan’s stammering slowly trailed away from him. He didn’t know what he wanted, to be honest. He wanted to curl into a ball and ignore the world for a little while, certainly, but he knew that wouldn’t solve anything. What he wanted, what he _needed_ , was for everything to just _stop_. For there to be no asylum hanging above his head, no debt to pay, no knackery yards, no Corbin to rub his nose into his each and every failing.

 

“What, come on Lauchlan, what? What’s the matter with you?” Corbin barked, he took hold of Lauchlan’s elbows and tugged insistently, trying to get Lauchlan to look at him.

 

“I just need some time alone,” he murmured. It wasn’t much to ask, he thought.

 

“As if you don’t get enough already?” Corbin scoffed, rolling his eyes.

 

“Corbin, please,” he pleaded.

 

“Lauchlan, no. Really, what’s the trouble with you? What do you need?” parroted Corbin, a thoughtful crease in his brow as he studied Lauchlan’s expression.

 

Lauchlan felt his throat draw tight as a sudden flash of rage washed through him. What right did Corbin have to barge into his life like this? What gave him the right to mock him? To treat him like the simplest sort of fool? To throw Lauchlan’s kindness and intentions back into his face like sand?

 

“Don’t you understand?” he hissed, the fiery emotion fuelling his courage, “They could send me to the asylum for what I’ve done, and you, you just waltz in and out my life as if it’s nothing, as if I don’t have everything to lose! I need to be able to look my father in the eye without wondering what he’d do if he knew the truth! I need to walk to work without wondering just how much my colleagues really know! I need to sleep without dreaming of madness,” he spat, rounding on Corbin as his rage burned higher and higher. This, this wasn’t his _fault_ , damn it all. If Corbin had just let him turn his back and leave he’d be sleeping happily in his bed, with news of his family to warm his soul and a good fire for the rest of him. If Corbin had just stayed home and kept his bloody hands to himself, if he hadn’t trudged through that bloody snowstorm, bore down on him with that bloody razor, if he hadn’t taken him home from that bloody pub.

 

If he hadn’t lain complacent and still while Lauchlan had used him till his flesh was black and blue, and there was blood in places blood should never be.

 

The fire gutted out, and Lauchlan realized just what he’d done, what he’d said.

 

How could he, how could he have thought such a thing? This wasn’t Corbin’s fault. He’d done this to himself, and he’d hurt Corbin in the act of it.

 

This was his fault, his doing, nobody else’s.

 

“I, I just,” Lauchlan stammered, “I want, I just want to sleep. That’s all,” he shrank away from Corbin, lowering his head as his throat pinched tight, and wrung his hands together.

 

“It’s been that long, has it?” said Corbin.

 

Lauchlan looked up, surprised by his tone. Corbin didn’t sound angry, didn’t look it either, hell, he wasn’t even glaring. Instead he just seemed soft, in a way that Lauchlan hadn’t seen him before.

 

“It’s, it’s been a very long week,” he murmured.

 

“I thought as much,” Corbin said. “Come on,” he urged, taking Lauchlan gently by his elbow.

 

He steered him into the front parlour and deposited him on the settee before turning on his heel and leaving. Lauchlan’s heart dropped as the door shut with a definitive click.

 

Lauchlan swallowed around the lump in his throat. He’d ruined things again. Why did he always have to ruin things? He hadn’t meant to, hadn’t wanted to! But he just kept on doing it.

 

The urge to sob won the battle, and Lauchlan folded into the familiar position. The sobs came, quiet but wrenching. His throat seemed to draw tight, closing his voice away. He squeezed as tightly as he could, though it offered little of the comfort it used to. He was too old to pretend that his problems would wait. Camilla was just as dead, he was still a sodomite and Corbin...

 

Corbin was shaking his shoulders.

 

“For heaven’s bloody sake man, pull yourself together!” he barked, prying at his shoulders in an attempt to unfold him.

 

Lauchlan obliged gingerly, dropping his feet to the floor while clenching his arms awkwardly to his chest. He was torn between the urge to hide his face and fob off some excuse, so Corbin wouldn’t see him so humiliated, and the desire to just keep sobbing till he rode it out. He tried to buck up, to stop it, to pull himself together, but in the end he didn’t have much of a choice at all. The dam had broken, and try as he might he couldn’t stem the flow.

 

Corbin stared at him open mouthed, and Lauchlan withered beneath the gaze, humiliation burning in every pore. Lauchlan buried his face in his hands, trying to hide the shameful display.

 

“Oi!” Corbin barked, tugging at Lauchlan’s wrists and hands, forcing Lauchlan to look up at him from where he lay prone on the settee.

 

“Just, hold on, here, here,” Corbin murmured as he cupped Lauchlan’s head and drew him close to his chest, Lauchlan’s face pressed gently into the age-softened wool of the overcoat.

 

Lauchlan sobbing started up all over again. He gathered Corbin up in his arms and dragged the unsuspecting man into his lap in his desperation.

 

Corbin went down with a grunt of surprise, but didn’t fight it when Lauchlan folded himself around him. He cradled Corbin, who sat sideways on his lap, and buried his face into the crook of his neck, clutching his torso close to his own. Corbin’s arms were pinned closely to his sides, but he had enough range to gently pat one of Lauchlan’s shoulders, even if the motion was rather awkward.

 

Lauchlan remained buried in Corbin’s scent till the sobs finally stopped, and for a little while longer after that. It felt, so, so good to hold Corbin like this and he’d missed it so. He felt warm and safe and whole, and so long as the dark wool concealed his face, Lauchlan didn’t have to acknowledge how humiliating his little display had been.

 

He also had to admit, having the other man in his lap was, novel, and pleasant. His legs were solid and well corded with muscle, there was a measure of softness there that cushioned him, and moulded them against one another. He was warm and heavy in his arms. Lauchlan didn’t want to let go.

 

Keeping his face where it was, Lauchlan gingerly shifted his grip on Corbin, running his hands down Corbin’s sides to circle around his chest. Corbin made no attempt to remove them, and the feeling of slow, even breaths he took were a huge comfort. He clutched a little more tightly, just in case, and slowly lifted his head, too ashamed to look Corbin in the eye.

 

“All done?” Corbin asked, who seemed rather uncomfortable about the whole affair.

 

“I think, yes, I, I’m sorry I,” Lauchlan’s voice cracked. He winced and lowered his head to stare at the floorboards.

 

“It’s alright,” said Corbin, shrugging nonchalantly. Lauchlan wasn’t sure if Corbin was lying to spare his feelings or telling the truth, but both were equally strange in context.

 

Corbin started to fidget uncomfortably on his lap, so he regretfully relaxed his embrace. Corbin slid off and settled beside him with an audible sigh. He leaned forward and picked something up off the coffee table, a dull clinking heralding the item before it was pressed into Lauchlan’s hands.

 

Corbin had made him a cup of tea.

 

Lauchlan took it, and stared into the china cup dumbfounded. It smelled well brewed, and served black the way that Lauchlan liked it. Lauchlan swallowed thickly as he realised the implications. Corbin hadn’t been leaving at all, he’d just gone down to the kitchen to make him a nice, calming cuppa. He felt his face heat and humiliation squirmed in his throat. He was such an idiot.

 

He took a sip of the tea to try to calm his nerves, but the piping hot tea did little but scald his tongue. He set the cup down carefully, and fished in his pockets for a hanky. Once he found one he did what he could to scrub his face clean. He tended to his right hand side with more care than the left. The eye was long gone, but the tear duct still worked well enough. The fluid had welled up inside the socket, and sloshed about uncomfortably. He carefully folded the hanky and tucked it beneath the felt of the patch so that it dabbed at the corner of his eye, and tilted his head downward and to one side so that the fluid would drain.

 

Corbin made a low sound of surprise, and stared at him queerly. Lauchlan avoided his gaze, his cheeks burning. He’d have rather had done it in private, but he couldn’t stand the sensation of the excess fluid sloshing about the inside of his socket for a second longer, not without voiding his stomach at any rate.

 

He wiped his nose next, honking loudly as he worked the mucus free.

 

“Better?” Corbin asked. His leg was a strong, warm presence knocking against Lauchlan’s side, and he put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

 

“I, no not really,” Lauchlan sighed. He was so sick of that damn word. Sick of lying about it when he knew it wasn’t true, didn’t know if it ever would be true.

 

“What’s this all about, something to do with your old man?” Corbin asked.

 

“I well, he isn’t really my old man. He’s my stepfather, but there’s not much of a difference really. He’s the only father I’ve ever really known and, well, he and I,” his throat stuck for a moment, and he swallowed to clear it. He knew he was rambling, but there was something cleansing about it, and he doubted he could dig himself deeper than he already had, so he kept going, “he visited just yesterday, you see. I hadn’t seen him since Easter last. I’d missed him, miss everybody and I barely ever see them. But then I saw him and all I could think about was what they would do if I told him the truth. I, I love them so much. I don’t know what I’d do if they, if I lost, if they stopped, I, I just don’t know,” he stammered pitifully, his voice threatening to take its leave again.

 

He peered at Corbin out of the corner of his eye, too ashamed to raise his head.

 

Corbin had looked away from him, and was staring into fire, thoughtfully nibbling on his bottom lip.

 

“I don’t, I didn’t mean to rouse on you like that. It was uncalled for, I’m sorry,” Lauchlan muttered, when the silence drew out for too long.

 

“Don’t worry yourself,” Corbin said with a dismissive wave.

 

“Tell me something, why do you think it is that makes sodomy so objectionable?” Corbin asked, propping his elbows on his knees and giving Lauchlan one of his inscrutable looks.

 

Lauchlan frowned. There were a lot of good reasons really, it was distasteful, it was unpleasant, it was not what the human body was intended for. The greatest reason and the only one that truly frightened him was the legal side of it. The prospect the asylum terrified him to his core.

 

“It’s supposed to lead to madness, isn’t it? Or come because of it?” Lauchlan asked.

 

Corbin scowled furiously, but he closed his eyes and carefully smoothed the expression out.

 

“Do you think I’m mad?” Corbin asked, his voice measured and expression carefully schooled.

 

“No, I, no of course not,” Lauchlan spluttered, though he did take a moment to think about it. Corbin had made his share of questionable choices, but seemed sane enough. He was capricious and indecent, yes, but not mad.

 

“Then take it from me, because I’ve done far more than my fair share of it. You’re not going to go mad just because you like to play a little backgammon from time to time. It’s just sex, and no matter who tells you otherwise, sex can’t do you any harm. It’s just a little, unconventional,” he said with a shrug.

 

Lauchlan mulled it over. Their roll in the hay was a rather precious memory, and even in this cynical light, he couldn’t bring himself to resent it. He had been a bit uncomfortable at first, but the pleasure and the sense of connection had been unlike anything he’d felt before. What he’d had with Ida just didn’t compare, and that was what was so worrying about it.

 

He thought of what he’d done to Corbin, the state he’d left him in and wondered than maybe he was a little bit mad. Then again, that would be his doing, rather than the act itself. Corbin had rather proved that it was worlds apart from his heavy handed fumbling when done properly.

 

“Whether I’m mad or not doesn’t really change much. I mean, even if I’m not mad, I’m still a sodomite,” he paused, tasting the syllables as they formed the word. It was such an ugly word, sodomite. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Corbin scoffed, an eyebrow raised in his direction.

 

“And you think it isn’t?” Lauchlan asked.

 

Corbin snorted, and shook his head.

 

“You think I’d be so keen on doing it if I did? Honestly, have you listened to anything I just said?” he scolded.

 

Lauchlan felt rather small all of a sudden, and lowered his head bashfully.

 

“I know but aren’t you ever afraid? I couldn’t survive losing my family, even if I wasn’t put away,” he murmured.

 

Corbin’s eyes softened, and as he looked away his expression changed into something darker.

 

“Not particularly,” Corbin said, softly. “I don’t have a family.”

 

Lauchlan’s heart sank. How could he have been so bloody insensitive? He hadn’t even thought, hadn’t even _considered_ that. He was such a bloody insensitive _idiot_ sitting here and whinging about his family who loved him when Corbin had no one.

 

Impulsively, he turned and embraced Corbin, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss into the tangled mass of hair.

 

Corbin squawked in surprise at the sudden embrace and went as stiff as a board.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he murmured.

 

Corbin slackened gradually, and Lauchlan felt him soften slowly, only for him to firm and pull away a moment later.

 

“It’s fine. Don’t worry yourself,” he said, his voice sounded tight, and his shoulders were squared.

 

“Look, just think of it this way. They love you don’t they?” he said, sharp and businesslike.

 

“Of course they do,” Lauchlan said, though with only half the steel of Corbin’s proclamation.

 

“Then they want you to be happy. It’s what parents do. I’m not asking you to test that, mind you, but think about it. If you had a child, would you begrudge them this?” he said shrugging and gesturing between them.

 

“If I had a daughter, I wouldn’t want her anywhere near the likes of you,” Lauchlan deadpanned.

 

Corbin broke out into a snorting bout of laughter, and Lauchlan found himself following suit.

 

“You know, I don’t think I would either,” Corbin said a moment later, a few chuckles still trickling out. “But you know what I mean, don’t you?”

 

Lauchlan took a moment to gather himself before he spoke, as he still chuckled a little at the thought of it.

 

“I think so. But, I don’t think they’d understand. I don’t think I could make them understand. What if they think there’s something wrong with me? If you told me this a year ago I would think that there was something wrong with me,” he said, shrugging helplessly.

 

“So, don’t tell them. It’s not like they actually want to know what sort of sex you’ve been having, is it?” Corbin said, dismissively.

 

“I know, I know, but, they’ve done everything for me. I don’t want to lie to them, I don’t want to hide for the rest of my life, but,” Lauchlan trailed off, letting the sentence hang there. He knew that he’d have to. It was just the way of things, especially if that bloody law was ever fixed.

 

Corbin hummed and patted his knee sympathetically; intuitive enough to know where Lauchlan’s thoughts had wandered.

 

“You’ll get used to it. Besides, it’s nobodies business but yours. It’s not as if any other men go ‘round telling their folks about all the girls they’ve had their way with. Nobody needs to know about it but you and me,” Corbin said, squeezing his knee in a firm grip.

 

Lauchlan swallowed, and leaned into Corbin’s side. He had a good point, and it was one worth mulling over. But even so, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to get used to feeling this way.

 

“I just don’t want to lose them. Once was bad enough,” he sighed, gulping the last of his tea and setting the cup aside.

 

“Once?” Corbin prompted, his head cocked to one side.

 

“I didn’t mention it last time?” he asked, sure that he’d mentioned it before.

 

“You were a bit busy sicking up, I suspect,” Corbin said. “No need to feel obliged, I think we’ve had enough upset for one day.”

 

“It’s alright, I mean, it isn’t at all like the other thing. Though, it did come about because of it,” he said, waving to the right side of his face.

 

It wasn’t a particularly happy tale, but time had dulled its sting to the point where it had been saddening, but not unbearable. The weeks that followed his accident had been a terrifying, nightmare-ridden blur, and he elaborated little on it. However, it was what came a few months later that had caused the mess. The little girl, the master’s youngest daughter, had been rather traumatised by the incident. It had all been well and good when Lauchlan had been hidden away in the servant’s quarters cowering from his black companion, but once he’d become reacquainted with his wits, and his arm had been halfway to mending, he’d had to go back to work. They couldn’t keep him hidden forever, and it seemed that no matter how inconspicuous he tried to be, she’d see him from a window, or a balcony, or catch the back of him as he went through on of the many narrow corridors trying to perform his chores.

 

He’d been informed that at the first sight of him since the incident the girl had run beneath the sideboard and refused to emerge for a full hour, despite the pleading of her governess, and no matter what anyone did her irrational terror of him did not get any better, culminating in wretched, screaming night terrors and hyseria.

 

Eventually something had to give, and the lady of the house had taken his mother and stepfather into her private wing to talk. He didn’t know exactly had been said, but household gossip had carried the gist of it back to him. The lady had been sympathetic, and asked after his health and his wellbeing. She spoke of her daughter, and how she feared for her wellbeing, and about the doctors she’d consulted. She then had said something about the hardships, or perhaps the sacrifices of motherhood, and lay down the line.

 

Lauchlan had to go, for her daughter’s sake.

 

His mother and stepfather could not risk uprooting the family when sweet Claire was scarcely a year old and a harsh winter was on its way, so they’d pleaded with the lady for a compromise, and she’d granted it. Lauchlan had his life packed into a suitcase and was bustled aboard a train that took him to a smaller estate that belonged to some relative of the family. It had been arranged for him to take up work there as a pageboy, with the intention of being apprenticed to a footman and being sent back when the little girl was well again.

 

It had not gone according to plan.

 

His broken arm was still all but crippled, and he was still so frightened by the black companion that had swallowed half his vision that he could scarcely function some days. People frightened him, shadows frightened him, birds frightened him and sudden movements that he caught in the corner of his eye terrified him completely. After a month of trying and failing to get him settled and working the household steward had thrown up his hands, and bustled him aboard another train to work for another relative of the family on another, smaller estate that was even further from home. There the cycle had repeated, and he’d been sent to an even smaller one, who had become fed up with him within the first week and sent him to an even _smaller_ household _._

That household had been in the middle of the city and fully staffed already. They weren’t bad people, but it became clear that working in a palatial country estate was a rather different to working in a city built terrace house. When they learned that Lauchlan had no idea of the layout and schedules, didn’t know how to keep out of sight without the servant corridors built to hide his presence, didn’t know how to deal with guests and tradesman, they hadn’t much need for him. By that point there were so many degrees of separation between them and his original family that they had no qualms about giving him his marching orders. He was bustled out onto the streets with his life in a suitcase and his family more than a hundred miles away.

 

He’d drifted from job to job for a few months before he found good, steady work at B&B. That first month had been a long, cold February, spent slaving in the workhouse, squashed in with several dozen other vagrants like a great can of filthy sardines, the steam of the looms on the floor below the only thing that kept them all from freezing.

 

It was the lowest Lauchlan had ever gone, and the decision to run from that wretched place was the best he’d ever made, reckless though it had been.

 

It had been a dark time for him, and he preferred not to dwell upon it too deeply. When all was said and done it had actually done him some good. With the reality of life on his own in the streets looming before him, his nightmares held no weight at all, and he’d muddied through his irrational fears and ill thought superstition to become, if not content, at least adjusted with himself and grateful for all he had.

 

“I don’t want to live like that again. I don’t think I could withstand it, the squalor, the isolation. Being trapped there once was hell enough, I won’t survive again,” he said, bitterly shaking his head.

 

“You lived in the spike?” Corbin said. His face looked grave, but he sounded vaguely impressed.

 

“It was only for a month, but, yes,” Lauchlan said, shrugging his shoulders and glancing away shyly. There was no point in denying it, and he was beyond feeling any further shame. He’d risen above it, and that was all that mattered.

 

Corbin made an odd noise in the back of his throat, and looked him over with an appraising eye that made Lauchlan squirm self-consciously.

 

“Look, you don’t have to worry about me running my mouth if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’ve never told a soul about my sleeping habits before and I’m not about to start with you. Just so long as you carry on as normal nobody will suspect a thing, I promise,” Corbin said.

 

“I didn’t, I didn’t mean to imply that you would. Aren’t you ever afraid that they’ll find out though? I mean, all it takes is one person to say something and then they’ll...” Lauchlan trailed off, his voice catching as he imagined the hell of the asylum that would follow.

 

“At first, sure, but that was a long time ago. I’m just one bugger in the middle of a slum full of them. They don’t care about the likes of us unless we give them a reason to. At the end of the day they’d much rather pretend that we didn’t exist at all. If you were rich or important it would be different, but as it is no one can be bothered to do anything about it unless you offer yourself up on a silver platter. Just let them think what they will and carry on like everything’s hunky-dory. People will buy it, I promise,” Corbin said.

 

Lauchlan swallowed thickly, and nodded in acknowledgement. Corbin certainly seemed to know from experience, but even so, it frightened him. Silence settled between them, and Lauchlan felt his grip on wakefulness flagging. The weariness had long sunk into his bones, and Corbin’s soft, steady warmth against his side was making him drowsy.

 

“I’m sorry about snapping at you earlier, I didn’t mean to. It’s been a terrible day,” he said, resting his cheek on his palm, and rubbing at his temples.

 

“You’ve said so already, but, that sounds like a bit of an understatement there,” Corbin scoffed, one eyebrow cocked.

 

“We, I had to take one of the horses to the knackery today. I know its just part of the job, but, it’s just, it’s just not fair. I can’t just let it happen and feel nothing, but I couldn’t let her suffer and I don’t know what I should feel. I, I just want to sleep. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in days,” Lauchlan said, softly. After his little display he hadn’t had it left in him to feel ashamed by the admission, but he braced himself for a chiding none the less.

 

“How about you go have a bath then. I’ll make up some food,” Corbin said, standing up and brushing his trousers.

 

“That, that would be lovely. Thankyou so much,” Lauchlan stuttered, his cheeks flushing pink, thought he wasn’t sure of exactly why.

 

Corbin grumbled and shrugged of the gratitude, turned and absconded to the scullery with Lauchlan’s teacup in hand.

 

Lauchlan dragged himself up to the bathroom and drew himself a hot bath. He sat into the tub while it filled, the warm water seeping away the lingering tensions, leaving him loose limbed and weary.

He washed lazily, and the heat of the water lulling his eye to close. He slid into a drowse, the water cradling him with soothing, gentle warmth.

 

Corbin shook him awake some time later, and Lauchlan squawked in indignity and flung himself upright, scrambling to cover his privates.

 

He found himself covered with nothing but a small washcloth and a blush that painted him from chest to cheek. Corbin was staring down at him with his arms crossed over his chest, his drenched shirt slowly dripping bathwater onto the tile.

 

“There was absolutely nothing in your pantry, you know. It’s rather inconsiderate of you,” he scolded, squeezing the moisture from the front of his shirt.

 

“I, I don’t often cook,” Lauchlan stuttered, turning his eye away.

 

“Thought as much, I found this,” he said and held out a messily scrawled note for him to read.

 

It was from Theresa, her awful grammar and uneven, looping handwriting was signature enough. It said that her Master had decided to invite several guests for dinner and for card games, and with the extra work on her hands Theresa had not had time to make up Lauchlan’s usual plate. It was just as well. He didn’t know what if she’d want much to do with him if she saw him like that. Lauchlan nodded when he’d finished reading, and Corbin took the note back.

 

“You’ve been pickling in there for an hour now, care to come out?” he asked, his eyes crinkling mirthfully.

 

“I’ll be down in a minute,” he said, and Corbin nodded and gave him his privacy.

 

He let the cooled bathwater out and clambered out of the tub. He dried quickly, and scarpered to the master bedroom, dressing in his best nightshirt, velveteen gown and a warm pair of bed socks.

 

Corbin was waiting for him at the dining table in the back parlour. He’d thrown an old cloth on the table and had set it with the second best settings. He’d made some sort of stew with potatoes, fennel and lean, coarsely chopped meat. There were a couple of Yorkshire puddings on a plate beside.

 

Corbin was sitting opposite Lauchlan’s setting, drumming his fingers against the table as he stared hungrily at his untouched meal. Vagabond was sitting by his chair, trying to stare him into submission and force him to surrender his scraps to her.

 

“Sorry to keep you. What is this exactly?” he said, sitting down opposite him. He was fairly certain he didn’t have this much red meat in the cold closet, but it was definitely red meat on the plate.

 

“Rabbit,” said Corbin.

 

“I bought that for Vagabond,” said Lauchlan, raising his eyebrows in realization.

 

“Lucky cat,” snorted Corbin, cocking an eyebrow at him as he took a loaded forkful of stew.

 

Lauchlan prodded at it uncertainly. There was nothing strictly wrong with it of course, he’d not feed Vagabond anything that could make her sick, but still. He took small piece of meat and chewed contemplatively. It tasted a little gamey, but tender and well cooked, and he found his stomach agreeing.

 

They ate in an enthusiastic silence, forks clinking as they hungrily cleared their plates, mopping up the last scraps of meat and gravy with the savoury pudding.

 

“Thankyou for all this, it means a lot to me, and well, after foisting all that on you, you really didn’t have to,” Lauchlan said, standing to take Corbin’s plate, only for the man to tug it out of his reach and walk with it to the scullery.

 

“It’s fine. I was hungry anyway,” he said, pacing out to the scullery and dumping his plate into the wash trough.

 

Corbin had stacked the pots and pans he’d used in the cooking process in the trough already. He’d scraped the rabbit bones and offal into Vagabonds bowl, which she’d picked thoroughly clean.

 

Vagabond pattered after them, rubbing against Lauchlan’s shins and mewling n the hope of something a little more substantial. Lauchlan took pity, and wet a dried kipper for her.

 

Corbin started on the dishes, and Lauchlan took up tea towel and started on the drying.

 

It was growing late by the time they finished, and Lauchlans bed was singing its sweet siren song to him. Lauchlan found himself oddly reluctant to go, however. Corbin had been kind, sweet even, and he felt better than he had in weeks. He didn’t want to turn him out into the cold and spend the night alone with naught but his nightmares for company.

 

“Corbin, would you like to use the bath before you go? It’s cold out,” Lauchlan murmured, shyly staring into the tea towel as he spoke.

 

“I’ll pass. It’s late and I should be getting away soon,” Corbin said, handing Lauchlan a cleaned boiler pot.

 

“You can stay, if you like,” he said, trying to sound casual and staring pointedly into the bottom of the copper pot.

 

“Weren’t you just fretting yourself silly about people finding out about this? Having a man stay the night is a rather good reason for suspicion,” Corbin said, cocking his head and looking at Lauchlan strangely.

 

Lauchlan blushed and set the pot aside, accepting the plate that Corbin held out to him and wiping it dry.

 

“I know, but it’s so dangerous to wander the city at night, and if Coalford is half as bad as I’ve always heard then I really must insist. Or at least, let me give you some cab fair,” said Lauchlan, the words stumbling over each other and his blush intensifying.

 

“It’s not that bad, and I know my way about,” Corbin said, a wry grin on his face.

 

“Alright, but please let me just,” Lauchlan turned to get some coinage from the house money stash, but Corbin caught his arm and held him back.

 

“I don’t need your charity Lauchlan. I can walk to my own damn house just fine, thankyou,” Corbin growled, and shooting Lauchlan a warning glare.

 

“I didn’t, I didn’t mean...” Lauchlan stuttered, but Corbin had turned away and was angrily scrubbing at the dishes.

 

“I just wanted to, after everything today I just wanted... I’m sorry Corbin,” he murmured, turning away and busying himself with the dishes.

 

He heard Corbin sigh beside him, and he reached out and caught his arm again, stilling him.

 

“Alright then,” he said, softly.

 

Lauchlan turned to Corbin in surprise. Corbin was staring into the trough contemplatively, the frustration gone.

 

“You don’t have to,” Lauchlan murmured, guilt festering in his stomach. Corbin owed him nothing, and he hadn’t the right to demand anything. Yet, here he was doing just that.

 

“I just said it was alright, didn’t I?” Corbin said with a shrug. He handed Lauchlan a fistful of cutlery and let the water in the trough out. “I’ll take that bath,” he said, and turned on his heel, leaving Lauchlan with the last of the tidying.

 

By the time Lauchlan put the scullery back to rights Corbin had shut himself into the bathroom. The sound of flowing water and the smell of steam trickled out from behind the door, and Lauchlan left him in peace.

 

Theresa hadn’t touched the fireplace in the master bedroom, as the space was just a little too private. He set to work laying the kindling and coals and setting it alight. Once he had it at a pleasant crackle, and Vagabond had taken up her place on the hearthrug, Lauchlan turned down the bedclothes and fluffed up the pillows a little. They were getting rather old and flat, but he’d never felt the need to indulge in new ones till now.

 

He knew it was a bit silly, but he had the strangest urge to try and impress Corbin. He knew Corbin wasn’t so frivolous that he’d judge him for it, he’d spent the night with him in a hayloft for heavens sake, but even so, he wanted to.

 

He perched on the end of the mattress and waited for a little while, staring into the fire and playing keep-away with Vagabond until she lost interest. Eventually his exhaustion took precedence over good manners and he doused the lights and crawled beneath the covers.

 

He was in the comfortable folds of half-sleep when he felt the bed dip beside him and the covers pull back. A warm body slipped into the bed and pressed to his side. He smiled groggily and turned to face it, gathering it into his arms and dosing off into a proper sleep at last.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this has been building up for a while. Only a small fraction of this chapter was in the original scaffold I made, originally Camilla was simply going to fade out of the story, and Lauchlan’s breakdown just didn’t happen. I knew going into this that I didn’t want to write a “coming out” sort of story, because there are so many such stories already and because as a cishet female I have no real understanding of how it feels to be in, and I didn’t think I could really do justice to just how hard it was for people of non-heterosexual inclinations in the context of the time. But it felt cheap, cop-out cheap, to not address it at all. Thus this chapter came into being. Lauchlan will never be out, the setting won’t allow it, but he can try to come to terms with what he is and how his budding sexuality will change his life, and that’s what I tried to address here. I hope I managed to reflect some facet what people go through when they deal with this stuff. Please, let me know what you thought of it, because this has been, hands down, one of the hardest chapters for me to write and some of the best character interaction I’ve ever written for these two.
> 
> This chapter is not beta read, all mistakes are my own and I appreciate having them pointed out to me.


	12. Water Under The Bridge

Come morning, the first thing that he became aware of was that he had a warm body cradled in his arms, and a heavy, warm lump settled on the small of his back.

 

He smiled, and nuzzled closer to Corbin’s warmth. He smelled crisp and clean, and he could feel his hair tickling against his cheeks.

 

The second thing he became aware of as he slowly came around, was that he could not see a godforsaken thing.

 

His heartbeat stuttered in his chest and his breath caught in his throat, his panic strangling him.

 

A resounding chorus of panicked pleas to god and all that was holy echoed through his head as he flailed helplessly, dislodging Vagabond from his back and launching upright. He blinked and clutched at his face, his breath stuttering as the world slowly swam into focus.

 

He took a deep calming breath, and blinked rapidly to ensure that his vision was not the product of an overly hopeful imagination, but it seemed real enough. The room was as he remembered it, the wardrobe and dresser standing either side of the bed, the dull embers of yesterdays fire glowing in the grate, and Vagabond skulking in the corner with her hackles up, upset at being so rudely awoken.

 

Lauchlan sighed deeply, and collapsed backward as he waited for his heart to slow its frantic staccato.

 

He turned to look at Corbin. Corbin had burrowed so deeply into the pillows that little more than a swaddled lump and a tangle of black hair was visible, and Lauchlan realised what he’d done.

 

He’d rolled over, he’d been two steps away from a heart attack and all he’d done was _roll over_.

 

He was such an idiot.

 

He usually slept on his right hand side, keeping his blind eye hidden by the cushions, and his sighted side upward, when he’d rolled over his limited vision had been obscured by the bedding and Corbin’s messy black hair.

 

It was such a little thing, but in that moment he’d really thought that his nightmares had come to meet him. He swallowed down a heavy lump of shame and lit the oil lamp he kept by the bedside.

 

“What’s up with you?” Corbin mumbled, his voice slurred by sleep and muffled by the pillows and blankets.

 

“Just a strange dream,” Lauchlan lied.

 

He got out of bed and pulled up the blankets, only for Corbin to flip them back and struggle out of bed. He slouched on the edge of the mattress, dressed nothing but his smallclothes and a threadbare undershirt. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his back out, a wet clicking noise signalling that he’d achieved whatever the exercise had been intended to do.

 

“That doesn’t sound healthy,” Lauchlan said, wincing. It was a disgusting noise and the fact that it came from Corbin’s back made it even worse.

 

“It’s n’thin’,” he slurred, a yawn swallowing most of the syllables. “Wa’ time is it?” he asked, struggling to reclaim the control of his jaw.

 

“Not sure, the clock is in the hall. It shouldn’t be too late though, Vagabond gives me what for if I don’t feed her breakfast on time,” Lauchlan said.

 

He made the bed and took his work clothing with him into the bathroom, giving Corbin a little privacy. He dressed, washed his face, combed his hair, and shaved, treating the razor’s lethal edge with all due caution. He was about ready when he heard a series of muffled profanities from the hall and quickly made his exit.

 

He found Corbin standing in front of the hall clock, glaring and muttering as if it had done something that he found personally offensive. He was dressed fully, but still looked rather dishevelled, his clothing crumpled and his hair in a mess

 

“Corbin are you alright?” he asked, wary of the answer.

 

“Five! You got me up at five? Why on earth must you wake me up at five?” he barked, whirling around to shoot a particularly venomous glare at Lauchlan.

 

“It’s five o’clock already? I’m running late!” Lauchlan exclaimed, brushing off Corbin’s glare in his haste. He hurried down the hall for the scullery, pausing only to check his watch against the clock and wind them both.

 

“You get up _before_ five? But nothing opens at bloody five,” Corbin snapped and sent Lauchlan an incredulous look.

 

“The stores do sure, but how do you think the staff get to the stores to begin with?” Lauchlan said with a shrug. It made perfect sense to him, and he’d grown so used to rising early that it came naturally.

 

“The sane ones live in,” Corbin grumbled, still trotting beside Lauchlan as he opened up the scullery.

 

“That’s a fair few of them, sure, but we make a third of our profit just in the hours of six till nine. It’s well worth it,” Lauchlan said with a shrug of his shoulders.

 

“But _five!_ How are you so bloody cheery at five _?”_ Corbin grumbled, and Lauchlan laughed.

 

“Just practice I guess. Is a cold breakfast alright by you?” Lauchlan laughed.

 

Corbin grumbled and scowled tiredly, but agreed none the less. There was no time to light up the oven, but there were enough hot coals in the parlour fireplace to make a warm pot of tea. He slathered some bread with butter and marmalade and sliced some cold meat to fill out the meal, setting a little aside for Vagabond’s breakfast. Corbin took it without complaint and they scarfed it down in relative quiet.

 

They left the house together, and Corbin scowled and pulled his coat more tightly around him as he took the brunt of the early morning chill.

 

“Five, for bloody sake. Look, not even the lamplighter is out of bed yet,” he said, scowling at the streetlights. The flames flickered cheerily back at him from within the soot-streaked glass.

 

“I’m sure he’s not, given he isn’t needed till around nine, when the sun is up,” Lauchlan said.

 

“Of course he wouldn’t. Couldn’t let me get up with the bloody sun,” Corbin huffed, his breath fogging the air.

 

Lauchlan shrugged helplessly. He could hardly leave Corbin alone in the house, and the man had woken under his own power, anyway. He started walking off down the street, Corbin trailing groggily behind him.

 

Corbin grumbled some more, and stamped his feet to work some warmth back into them. It was snowing moderately, and Corbin already had a dusting of snowflakes clinging to his birds nest of hair.

 

“So I suppose I’ll be seeing you again soon?” Lauchlan said, fishing shamelessly. Corbin’s visit had been a welcome reprieve this time around, but he wasn’t keen on him just appearing on his doorstep willy-nilly. Lauchlan was rather happy with the daily routine he’d become accustomed to, and having it thrown aside whenever Corbin turned up could grow tiresome easily.

 

“I suppose. We still have a few things to work out after all,” Corbin said with a smirk.

 

Lauchlan flushed, his thoughts drifting to lurid places.

 

“I’m free most Sundays” Lauchlan said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.

 

“Oh, is that so?” Corbin said, his voice swooped low as he quirked an eyebrow in Lauchlan’s direction.

 

Lauchlan felt his cheeks glow, and cleared his throat self-consciously.

 

“Well yes, I’m afraid I won’t be of much use to you for the rest of the week. I tend to retire quite early, with the day beginning at five and all,” Lauchlan said, coughing one or twice.

 

Corbin pulled a face at the mention of the hour, and slowed his pace.

 

“I need to leave you here,” he said, gesturing down a side street.

 

“I’ll see you Sunday then?” Lauchlan asked, hoping that Corbin would take the hint.

 

“Maybe,” Corbin said, shrugging one shoulder and made his way down the sidestreet.

 

Lauchlan waved his goodbyes and hurried on to work, arriving a few minutes past his usual time despite his rush.

 

It turned out to be quite a busy day, and Lauchlan was thankful to have something to occupy his thoughts. Every hour or so he’d walk past that empty stall and feel his heart squeeze in his chest, but he managed to keep moving none the less. It hurt to see where she should have been, but he had no option but to keep on going, so he kept on. By the time the afternoon rolled around he felt well and truly spent, his chest was sore and guilt weighed heavily on his mind, threatening to drown him in his sorrows once again. He slipped away into the office, perched on the rickety chair and made a strong cup of tea. He cradled it against his chest just to enjoy the warmth of the brew, and he thought of a warm embrace and a scent that was familiar and foreign all at once. He drank in slow, measured sips, savouring the taste of the undoctored tea, and when he’d drained the cup he felt ready to face the world again.

 

The week crawled by in much the same fashion. The ache of loss did not soften, but it couldn’t overpower him anymore. Corbin had lent him just enough strength to push through, it seemed, and Lauchlan had enough emotional fortitude left to feel grateful for that.

 

Sunday was a long anticipated reprieve, and Lauchlan embraced it contentedly. He dozed in bed long after sunrise, despite Vagabond’s best efforts to the contrary.

 

When he finally arose, he dressed in old, comfortable clothing and put together a proper spread for Sunday breakfast. It wasn’t a full English (to this day Lauchlan couldn’t understand how anybody could ingest so much grease in one sitting) but he had more of an appetite than he’d had all week. He made some egg-in-basket, fried some chicken livers and mushrooms, gave the lot of it a healthy slosh of worcestershire and tucked in.

 

His flu had finally let up on him, and the hot meal was a great comfort as it gently warmed him from his belly out, raising his spirits even as he went about cleaning up the dishes. It felt like it was going to be a good day, and he let the conviction infuse him with good cheer.

 

He was elbow deep in the washing up when somebody rapped at the front door. He wiped his hands, rolled down his sleeves, and went up to the landing.

 

He could see a familiar, short silhouette in the glass, and Lauchlan felt his heart thump in his chest.

 

Surely this time around Corbin was going to take what he’d been promised, and Lauchlan wasn’t sure if he was ready to for that. It was one thing to lay down and let Corbin take the reigns, so to speak, but to put his mouth to Corbin’s manhood? He wouldn’t know what the hell to do with another man’s tackle, hell, he hadn’t the foggiest what to do with his own half the time.

 

Lauchlan swallowed around a lump in his throat and straightened his back, trying to drill some degree of confidence into his posture. He didn’t really feel it, but the pretence helped to distract him from his nerves.

 

He opened the door and stepped back, knowing that Corbin was likely to barge in whether he was welcomed or not.

 

Corbin was dressed the same as he was the last time they’d met, though the tatty suitcoat and trousers had been recently laundered and neatly pressed. It was probably the nicest clothing Corbin owned, if his previous choices of dress were any indication.

 

“Corbin, it’s good to see you,” Lauchlan said, he offered a forced smile, and attempted to take his overcoat.

 

Corbin ignored Lauchlan’s offered hand and hung it upon the coat hook himself. He had a large, flat wooden box tucked under one arm which rattled loudly as he shifted it from one hand to the other.

 

“That’d be a first,” he said, flashing a wry grin at him before turning down the hall, and into the front parlour.

 

“So what brings you here, exactly?” Lauchlan said breathily, trotting hastily at Corbin’s heels.

 

“This,” Corbin declared. He held out the box in lieu of an explanation, and set it down on the coffee table. Corbin pushed Lauchlan’s favourite chair up against the table, and flopped into it, beckoning to Lauchlan with one hand.

 

“And what is this, precisely?” Lauchlan said, warily eyeing the box as he perched on the edge of the opposite chair.

 

Whatever it was, it was a beautiful piece of woodwork. The wood grain was a beautiful soft golden brow hue that twisted into an intricate pattern of organic whorls and knots that Lauchlan recognised as walnut bur. An elegant checked border was inlaid around the lid in two other woods, one a pale white and the other a deep reddish colour. It was very well looked after, the wood oiled and polished to a deep lustre, but it was clear that the box had seen a fair amount of travel. The gilded clasp had been smoothed down by constant handling, revealing the copper beneath, the corners bore a little scuffing and there were four tiny screw holes near the clasp. Presumably there had once been a plaque or some such thing affixed there that had later been removed.

 

Lauchlan hadn’t bought new furniture in years, but even so, he was reasonably sure that something of this level of craftsmanship was beyond Corbin’s means. He certainly hadn’t seen anything so finely made when he’d visited last. It was odd, and Lauchlan couldn’t help but wonder how Corbin had come to own it. Lauchlan wouldn’t dare to accuse Corbin of theft, but even so, the possibility seemed among the most likely.

 

“This is your scapegoat,” Corbin said, just as cryptically as before.

 

Corbin flipped the clasp and opened the box, laying the lid flat on the table. The inside was segmented into four sections; the outer ends of the box were narrow drawers that were covered by sliding partitions. The centre two sections were empty, but they were inlaid with the same simple elegance as the lid, each decorated with a series of isosceles triangles, alternating between the red and the white wood.

 

“I still don’t understand what this is,” Lauchlan said, shaking his head and spreading his hands out helplessly.

 

“It’s a backgammon board. Haven’t you ever played backgammon?” Corbin scoffed rather derisively, but he grinned, and his dark eyes seemed to laugh at him.

 

“I’ve played draughts. I just, I still don’t understand what you want me to do with this,” Lauchlan said, blushing in embarrassment. It was obvious now he knew what he was looking at. It was a common game, and he really should have guessed, but he’d been so confused by Corbin’s behaviour the thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“Play. What else would you do with it?” Corbin laughed. He opened the smaller compartments and started setting the checkers up for a game. The checkers and dice were made of the same woods as the inlays, and there were a pair of walnut dice cups lined with soft red felt.

 

“But why? You’d come all this way just to play a boardgame?” Lauchlan said, even more confused than before.

 

Corbin looked up from the set, staring into Lauchlan’s eye with an odd expression on his face. He rocked back on his seat, resting his chin on his hand as he continued to stare. He looked tired all of a sudden.

 

“Remember that talk we had, about you being afraid of people figuring you out, somehow?” he said.

 

“Well, yes, what of it?” stuttered Lauchlan, immediately nervous. If Corbin had to make an excuse to come here and talk about that of all things, it had to be serious.

 

“This will help with that,” he said, gesturing to the backgammon set.

 

“I’m sorry but, how?” he said, exasperated and confused beyond measure.

 

Corbin sighed, and rubbed his forehead.

 

“Think about it Lauchlan. What would make you more suspicious? Two men who ferret about after dark, avoid being seen in public, and refuse to acknowledge the existence of the other when they’re in other company, or two men who meet every few weeks to play a nice game of backgammon?” he said, waving at the set.

 

“Well, the first. But wouldn’t it be better not to be seen at all? I’m glad to have you, don’t get me wrong! But you don’t need to go to so much trouble just, just to make me feel better. I can, I can try to get past it on my own,” Lauchlan stuttered, tripping over his own words.

 

Corbin’s mouth quirked into a half smile, and his eyes softened.

 

“Maybe I like playing backgammon,” he grumbled affectionately.

 

Lauchlan felt warmth bloom in his chest, and his cheeks flush.

 

“I can’t say I’ve ever played,” Lauchlan muttered. They hadn’t the time for complicated games when he’d worked at the estate, and he hadn’t anyone to play with afterwards.

 

“I’ll teach you. It’s not particularly hard, all you need is a little skill and a lot of luck,” he said, smiling lopsidedly and shrugging one shoulder. He passed Lauchlan a dice cup and the two white dice, and the lesson commenced

 

Lauchlan blundered through the first two games, struggling to come to terms with the intricacies of it as Corbin smiled magnanimously and spelled out the rules and scoring system over again. But, by the third game he had a pretty decent understanding of it. The game needed more quick mathematics than anything else, and that Lauchlan could do that without much effort at all. Much to Corbin’s surprise, Lauchlan started winning. He managed to occupy several of the key points and held them just long enough to keep Corbin frustrated, and picked off his blots when he tried to slip past, taking the game for a gammon before Corbin could adjust his strategy.

 

By the fifth game Corbin was well and truly fed up with Lauchlan’s newfound prowess and brought the doubling cube into play. Lauchlan fetched some sweets to wager with and the match was on again.

 

There was no clear victor by the end of it. The games had been short but brutal, played like there was a sheep station on the line, not soft toffees and liquorice allsorts. They’d eaten their winnings as they’d played, and quickly lost track of who’d won what.

 

“Next time, we keep a bloody transcript,” Corbin growled, though how he managed to growl with a toffee bulging in one cheek was anyone’s guess. He prodded at his meagre pile of sweets, thumbing the wax paper wrappers in search of uneaten toffees, and huffed when he found none.

 

“I’ll swap you some toffees for your liquorice?” Lauchlan asked, offering his own plate out.

 

Corbin sent him one of his glares but claimed a handful of toffees from the plate none the less.

 

“I quite like this game,” Lauchlan said, cheerily claiming his share of the technicoloured liquorice.

 

“Oh, hush up,” Corbin grumbled, shoving a second toffee into his mouth and sucking it glumly.

 

“Really, it’s good fun. It was very kind of you to come around, and I do appreciate it,” Lauchlan said, shyly looking down at his hands as he fiddled with one of the colourful cubes.

 

“Don’t mention it, and I do mean that. Next time we’re playing bloody cribbage,” he grunted.

 

Lauchlan laughed, and Corbin grumbled all the more. He hid his smile behind his hand and popped the confectionary into his mouth to quiet himself.

 

“If you like,” Lauchlan said, smiling beneficently.

 

Corbin rolled his eyes, and leaned back into the chair, resting the plate of sweets on his lap.

 

“You’d probably pick right up on that too wouldn’t you? Clever bastard. Ah, well. It was nice to get the old game out. It hasn’t seen the light of day in a long while now,” he said, his voice low, and an affectionate smile set upon his face.

 

“It’s a beautiful set,” Lauchlan agreed, though he knew the comment wasn’t quite as subtle as he’d intended it to be.

 

Corbin cocked an eyebrow at him, and laid a hand fondly upon the box, palming one of the checkers.

 

“It is that. I only started playing because the connotations were rather amusing, but it has stuck with me over the years,” he said, idly flipping the checker across his knuckles.

 

“What connotations?” Lauchlan asked, tilting his head quizzically.

 

“You don’t know?” Corbin exclaimed, his gaze sharply focussing on him.

 

“Should I?” Lauchlan asked

 

“Lauchlan, sound it out. If playing backgammon meant anything other than the game, what do you think it would mean?” Corbin asked, a cheshire grin on his face and laughter in his eyes.

 

Lauchlan paused to think a moment. If it appealed to Corbin’s sense of humour it was probably a little off colour, and he had mentioned the game more than once in passing, though Lauchlan hadn’t paid it any attention at the time. Given the context, it probably had something to do with the two of them, but what? He sounded it out, as Corbin had suggested, but that didn’t help. He was fairly sure that ‘gammon’ was a nonsense word, and ‘back’ could mean anything, unless...

 

“Surely not! You don’t, you don’t mean to say that it means _that_?” Lauchlan exclaimed, blushing furiously as he thought of their roll in the hay.

 

“Of course it does! Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve never heard it said before. I’m sure I’ve mentioned it once or twice,” Corbin spluttered, laughing despite his efforts.

 

Lauchlan flushed, sinking back into the chair in an attempt to shield his embarrassment. He’d heard all sorts of foul euphemisms from his work with the poor stableboys, as most were of an age where anything lewd was considered the highest form of comedy, but backgammon was certainly a new one.

 

“It started as little joke really. It’s supposed to be a ‘polite’ way of saying that someone is a sodomite, as if it were possible to talk about that in ‘polite’ company without inviting a lynch mob. When I started doing, well, what we’ve done, I started referring to myself like that. Sodomy is such an ugly word,” Corbin said, frowning pensively.

 

Lauchlan hummed in agreement, and Corbin smiled.

 

“At some point the other bloke caught on, and I figured we may as well play the damn game just for the sake of it. I wasn’t any good, but it made me laugh. I could tell people exactly what I was up to, and watch it sail right over their heads. It still tickles me to this day,” he said with a laugh. He smiled fondly, and flipped the checker, catching it in the opposite palm and gazing at it fondly.

 

Lauchlan swallowed thickly and stared at the backgammon set, morbidly fascinated. There really had been other men. He’d all but known it already, of course, but having the confirmation of it given so casually was a bit of a shock. The set must have meant a lot to Corbin, if the way he cradled the checker was any indication.

 

“He wasn’t _put away_ , was he?” Lauchlan asked, too timid to look him in the eye.

 

“What?” Corbin asked, raising an eyebrow and frowning quizzically.

 

“The, the other bloke? I just, I hope he wasn’t...”

 

“What, him? Christ no. He just got _bored_ was all,” Corbin scoffed, waving and flashing a toothy smile.

 

“But, that’s a horrible thing to do,” Lauchlan gasped. Corbin seemed so fond of the backgammon set and he’d sounded so affectionate when he told the tale. Lauchlan hadn’t expected grand romance but he hadn’t thought Corbin the type anyone could discard so callously. Corbin was the sort of man who could just waltz into a persons life as if he’d belonged there all along. Lauchlan couldn’t imagine anyone trying to boot him back out, let alone actually succeeding.

 

Corbin’s smile faltered, and his gaze became heavy as he returned it to the smooth red checker cradled in his palm.

 

“It wasn’t like you think, not really. He had money to shove around, and I was willing, and too much of a miscreant to be believed if I tried to rat him out. I knew what I was in for. At the end of the day, I probably got the better end of the bargain anyway,” he said, a smile stretched across his face again, and he looked down to fiddle with the checker.

 

“Are, are you sure. I mean, I...” Lauchlan trailed off, sympathy aching in his chest, and straining to be let loose. He wanted to do something, but he didn’t know if Corbin wanted or needed it, and he didn’t want to presume.

 

Corbin scoffed, and waved him off again.

 

“I’d forgotten all about him till you brought it up. Really, he was hardly worth mentioning him at all. It was sex, that’s all it ever really is. Christ, this was probably the best thing to come out the whole affair,” he said, returning the checker to the box.

 

“The set? But, if he was so fickle, why would he...” Lauchlan’s voice trailed away as he realized the sort of territory he was wandering into. He had the feeling that Corbin wouldn’t appreciate that sort of question.

 

To Lauchlan’s surprise, Corbin smiled indulgently at him, and elaborated instead of rounding on him.

 

“He liked to give people things, whether they liked it or not. You could mistake it for generosity at first, but it wasn’t, it never is with those sorts. He liked to remind people that he was more powerful, more important than them, so he’d go out of his way to give people little tokens, things that were utterly useless and yet ostentatious and insulting when you knew the context, codes within codes you know. It was his way of reminding people that he was more powerful than them, richer than them, that he could own them if he wanted to. He liked a bit more than is strictly healthy, I’d say. I know he got a kick out of sleeping with me, I was a dirty, poor bugger from Coalford after all, what could be any lower?” he laughed spitefully.

 

“Corbin, that’s not true! You didn’t, tell me you didn’t let him...” Lauchlan cried, aghast.

 

Corbin laughed louder, more mirthfully, and waved him off.

 

“He thought that it was. He thought he was corrupting me, taking my innocence or some shite. I was young, skint and a little bit sex crazed so I let him think whatever the hell he wanted. That the sex was good and the shit he gave me payed the rent helped a fair deal. I’m pretty sure he intended this to be a threat, like he took my bloody virtue or something and wanted to rub it in, let the world know what I was, and what he’d done. He thought that this gave him power over me, let him own me, but really? It’s just a bit of wood and copper, and it made me laugh, so I kept it,” he said, shrugging. He leaned forwards and started putting the checkers away, and Lauchlan hurried to help him pack up.

“I would have used it for firewood,” Lauchlan muttered.

 

Corbin grinned wistfully, and shook his head.

 

“I admit, the thought did cross my mind. In the end, I was just a little too spiteful to go through with it. He thought that he had me scared and he wanted me to be afraid of him, to stay afraid of him long after he’d gone, and I didn’t want to do what he wanted anymore. It’s a game, it was made to be played, so I played it with just about anyone who asked nicely. It’s mine, no one can stop me from doing what I want with it,” Corbin said, shrugging.

 

Lauchlan doubted Corbin was talking about the game anymore, and he swallowed thickly, fumbling with the wooden checkers.

 

“I don’t understand, why would you let him do that to you? You’re always so... prideful,” Lauchlan stuttered, searching for the right word. Their hands brushed against one another over the backgammon board, and Lauchlan had to resist the urge to clasp in it his own. The idea of Corbin being used like that, like he was a possession to be discarded at leisure, was absolutely abhorrent. Lauchlan wanted to grab him and hold him and promise that no one would ever do such a thing to him again, even if he had no idea how he would follow through and had a good suspicion that Corbin would take it the wrong way.

 

“I am now,” Corbin said and his hands stilled, hovering indecisively over the board. “I was young then, I didn’t think I had anything worth losing. I know better now. I wish I didn’t have to have it taken from me like that to realize I had it, wish I’d known it before I gave the old bugger a bloody thing. It’s too late for that now,” he said, scowling bitterly.

 

“I’m glad,” Lauchlan said, gravely. “Is that... Is that why you don’t like it when I try to be formal?” he asked, seeing Corbin’s aversion to good manners in a new light.

 

“It is and it isn’t. I’d hate to attribute anything to the old bugger but if that’s what you want to believe,” he shrugged airily, and latched the box shut.

 

“You, you do know that I would never do something like that, not to anyone, least of all you,” Lauchlan stuttered, sheepishly peering up at Corbin.

 

“I had no intention of letting you,” Corbin said, smirking and cocking an eyebrow.

 

Lauchlan spluttered, making Corbin chuckle.

 

“Now, if you’re quite finished clearing me out, I think I’ll be going,” he said, putting the box under his arm.

 

“Already? But surely you’d like to stay for lunch first?” Lauchlan said, getting to his feel and hurrying to Corbin’s side.

 

“Bit late for that,” Corbin said, eyeing the carriage clock on the mantelpiece.

 

Lauchlan turned to look at it, and was rather surprised to find that it was already afternoon. The time had flown by.

 

“Well, a pot of tea maybe? It’s cold out, and I do owe you after I got you up at five after all,” Lauchlan quipped cheekily, and Corbin chuckled.

 

“If you put it that way, sure,” Corbin chuckled, and Lauchlan led him down to the kitchen.

 

He took out the good china, brewed a pot of tea and made some jam sandwiches, not trusting his culinary skills to take him much further than that. He sat them both down at the dining table and let Corbin pour, their talk still fresh in his mind.

 

“Nothing for mine,” Lauchlan said when Corbin offered the milk.

 

“Why not?” Corbin asked mildly, and poured his own, plopping two sugars into his own.

 

“I’ve always taken it plain,” he said shrugging. He and his mother had never had much money, not even when they were at the estate together, so they’d cut their costs in any way they could. Tea without milk was a small price to pay to have a roof above his head.

 

“Money issue?” Corbin asked, and Lauchlan nodded in agreement.

 

“Well you have money now, so why not?” he said.

 

Lauchlan had nothing to say to that. He was a creature of habit and he’d never really thought about it.

 

Corbin huffed, and gave him a patronising look.

 

“Just try it with milk, will you?” he said, extending the jug his way.

 

Lauchlan took it sheepishly, and doctored his tea.

 

He was surprised to find that it was actually quite nice, different, but nice and Corbin’s soft eyed smile seemed ample reason to do so again.

 

They munched on the sandwiches and the last of the sweets in relative quiet. Lauchlan tried to keep up conversation but found he had little to say, and Corbin seemed to be finished with talking, content to listen and hum in acknowledgment in the appropriate places.

 

The teapot was drained far to quickly for Lauchlan’s liking, and Corbin had to go.

 

Lauchlan wanted to hold him, but he remembered what had happened the last time and refrained. Instead he took to helping Corbin into his overcoat, despite the man’s huffing, and let his hands linger around Corbin’s shoulders, enjoying the warmth of the body beneath his palms for a moment before he had to pull away.

 

“Would you like to come again, next week maybe? I did enjoy you coming around, and I’d like, I, I’d like to see you again,” he stuttered, shyly gazing just past Corbin’s shoulder and twisting his hands into his shirtsleeves.

 

“Don’t you have anything else you’d rather be doing on your day off?” Corbin said, raising an eyebrow and curling his lip.

 

Lauchlan blushed and glanced away. He didn’t sit around doing nothing all day, but he never did anything of particular consequence either. He’d usually just clean his house, do a little shopping and take a walk in the public park if the weather was fair. Sometimes he’d meet up in the pub with Jasper and their other co-workers, but such occasions were few and far between, and Lauchlan always felt a little out of place in the gatherings.

 

“I’d enjoy this more,” me murmured.

 

Corbin huffed and gave him an appraising look.

 

“If I have the time,” Corbin said, and smiled.

 

Lauchlan smiled warmly at the prospect, and said his farewells.

 

Corbin said his farewells, and Lauchlan lingered in the doorway as Corbin made his way down the street, the backgammon set rattling under his arm.

 

“He seemed an odd sort,” rang a voice from behind him.

 

Lauchlan must’ve jumped a clear foot in the air as he whirled around, his heart pounding in his ears.

 

Theresa was standing behind him, a feather duster tucked under one arm and a number of cleaning implements and rags tucked into her apron.

 

“Theresa, what are you doing here?” he exclaimed in shock, hastily shutting the door and stepping away from it in a failed attempt at nonchalance.

 

“I was just about to start on the family silver, and I was wondering if you wanted a hand with yours while I was at it,” she said, frowning and peering at Lauchlan peculiarly.

 

“No, no that’s fine, I did mine not long ago. How, how long have you been standing there?” he asked, taking careful measured breaths as he struggled to calm down.

 

“Oh just a few minutes. I heard your guest was leaving so I waited in the scullery. Who was that man? I haven’t seen him around before,” she said, cocking her head and frowning thoughtfully.

 

“Ah, he’s a, a friend of mine. I met him at the stag two months or so back,” Lauchlan said, he knew he was rubbish at making up stories, he had trouble keeping track of them, so he kept as close to the truth as he could. He feared he didn’t sound particularly convincing regardless.

 

“Oh, that’s nice. What’ve you two been up to?” Theresa asked conversationally. She glanced into the front parlour, and the tea service caught her eye.

 

“We, ah, we played some backgammon,” he stuttered.

 

“Must have been an important game to warrant the best china,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

“Oh, I just wanted to use it. There’s no point in letting it sit on a shelf gathering dust day in and day out,” Lauchlan said, tittering nervously.

 

Theresa hummed, and nodded agreeably, but Lauchlan feared she was only humouring him.

 

“Well, I’ll be getting out of your hair then. I’ll see you later with dinner. Give a shout if you need help with anything in the meantime,” she said, smiling and giving a little curtsey before bustling back out through the scullery.

 

Lauchlan slumped bonelessly against the wall, breathing deeply, and wiped his sweaty palms against the seat of his trousers.

 

He’d panicked, and he knew that panic was the wrong thing for anyone to do in almost any situation, but panic he had. It was like she’d seen right through him without the slightest effort and she hadn’t even said anything. What on earth would he do if he needed to actually lie to people, people who weren’t nearly as polite and kind-hearted as Theresa? Christ he was doomed, backgammon or no backgammon.

 

He went to the parlour and flopped back down into his chair, rubbing his forehead with his hand. He had to get used to this, otherwise he’d be reduced to a blubbering mess the moment anyone so much as mentioned the word backgammon.

 

He thought of what Corbin had told him, and steeled his resolve as best he could. He just had to think of this all as inconsequential. If he could convince himself that everything was perfectly normal he might actually stand a chance at convincing someone else.

 

He levered himself out of his chair and gathered up the tea service and toffee wrappers, taking the lot of it out the scullery to clean. He pondered the issue as he went through the familiar, brainless motions of dishwashing.

 

It wasn’t as if he and Corbin were alone. Corbin himself seemed to know a great number of others like them, who’d done just as much, if not more, than they had. The thought wasn’t as comforting as it ought to have been, probably because he couldn’t stop himself from imagining Corbin’s past lovers. He’d never been a particularly jealous man, and he tried not to wish for things he knew to be impossible and unattainable, but even so he couldn’t help but wonder just what Corbin had been like before the ‘old bugger’ came along.

 

It was hard to imagine Corbin without the same measure of confidence and pride he held today. It was equally hard to imagine him without the lines that years of stress had carved into his face, but not impossible. He couldn’t imagine Corbin ever looking classically handsome but perhaps he’d be less bad tempered than now, a little more open, a little quicker to smile and laugh at innocuous innuendos, and to tumble into bed with older men.

 

It was a bittersweet thought, because even if he was imagining it remotely close to reality, he knew now just how Corbin had been worn down. He felt furious and impotent just thinking about the horrible man who had done that to Corbin. But even so, Corbin claimed to have come out the better for it, and Lauchlan had no reason to doubt. It was pointless to hate a man he’d never know, and yet hate he did.

 

It was a little frightening, to be perfectly honest. Rage was not an emotion he was particularly accustomed to. It coiled tightly in his chest, frothing and snapping, clawing for release, uncaring that he had no guilty target to unleash it upon. Lauchlan shook himself, and tried to direct his energies at a stubborn tea stain.

 

He’d never felt this way with Ida, not even when she’d left. He’d felt despondent and achingly lonely, yes, but he’d never been angry at her, or angry for her for that matter. He supposed he shouldn’t be as surprised as he was, Corbin did seem to have a knack for stoking feelings in him that he’d long forgotten.

 

Lauchlan felt a dull pang of nostalgia, and shook his head. He and Ida seemed so simple now, shallow and vapid in the light Corbin had shone on his life. He’d fancied her, sure, and given time he’d have probably married her, made a family with her, but he couldn’t fathom it anymore. She was lovely, and they’d spend many hours talking and soaking in the others company, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember a thing that they’d spoken of. She had loved novels, and took pleasure in recounting them paragraph by paragraph, but he’d be damned if he could remember what any of them were actually about. Though he remembered asking her of it, he didn’t recall her ever talking about her family, her aspirations, or anything beyond pleasantries and flights of fancy that seemed to change with the day of the week.

 

Not that he was any better himself, he hadn’t told her half of what Corbin had extracted from him. Not about his time in the spike, or his aversion, and certainly not about the Jackdaw and the Surgeon. She had already been much too good for him, and he feared she’d leave and not look back if he told her about the hell he’d been dragged through, and look where that had led him.

 

And yet, Corbin was still here. After everything he’d done to him Corbin rightly should have left, or at least given him hell for it, and yet nothing of the sort had happened.

 

Lauchlan wasn’t sure what to make of that.

 

He finished up his washing and drying and started putting everything back away, chewing at his lip pensively.

 

He loved Ida, he had loved her from the day they’d met. He’d never questioned that before, but now he’d started he couldn’t stop himself. They had talked but neither had ever _said_ anything, and the longer he thought the shallower it all seemed. But he had loved her, he’d not spent a day without thinking about her, not spent a moment in her company when he wasn’t simply happy to be in her presence. He had loved her then, he had been so sure of that, but he didn’t love her anymore, and he didn’t know when or where that love of her had perished.

 

He sat down on the countertop, his heart heavy in his chest, and thought. Vagabond hopped up beside him, and pawed softly at his thigh. He supposed she was wondering what he was doing on the countertop, which was one of her preferred spots. Gently, he eased her onto his lap and stroked down her back, teasing out the tangles and bits of fluff that were caught in her thick coat of fur.

 

He didn’t love Ida anymore, acknowledging it felt like a slap to the face, like his own damn heart had betrayed him. He clutched Vagabond closer and the cat hissed and sunk her claws into his lap.

 

He knew that Ida had stopped loving him, if she ever truly had, but that hadn’t mattered before. The simple act of being in love had sustained him, soothing the aches of a lifetime of hardship and loneliness. It had given him hope, passion for his own future for the first time in years. It was for the sake of that love that he had stood silent as she ranted and raved, let he walk out of his life and not look back, let her be happy with her life without him in it, because he had loved her enough to know that she could not love _him_ enough to be happy with a life together.

 

It hadn’t been much but knowing that he had loved her, that he did love her had kept him going for who knows how long. Loving her had reminded him that despite everything that h ad been ripped from him he was still _worth_ something in her eyes, and even after she’d left, unrequited as it was, it was his only reassurance that his heart had not yet broken.

 

He had devoted so much to his love of her and now it was just, worthless.

 

He cradled Vagabond against his chest like a child would a doll, ignoring her hissing, and breathed deeply, holding back a sob as he struggled to come to terms with it.

 

It was all right that he didn’t love her anymore. It had to be. It had been years, and that much was human, but still, he felt robbed. He had given so much of himself to that love, things he’d never get back, and now it was stripped of meaning, stripped of purpose, stripped of worth.

 

But, he had other things of worth now. What he and Corbin had, it wasn’t love, wasn’t anything that could be contorted into a real relationship, but it was unique and precious in its own right. He would never forget the things they’d done, and way that Corbin had made him feel, the things he’d shared with him, and how Corbin had simply accepted it all unflinchingly, without blame or disgust, and offered him something of himself in return. It wasn’t the same, but it was something special in its own right, and it would have to be enough.

 

Lauchlan softened his hold on Vagabond and she bolted to the top of the cold closet, raising her hackles and glaring accusingly at him. He poured a little bit of cream into her bowl in apology, and left her to her sulk.

 

He continued to ponder for the rest of the evening, despite attempts to clear his mind. He _tried_ to do something constructive by tidying up the pantry, but was so distracted that he found himself moving things from one shelf to another without actually comprehending what he was moving and why he was doing it. So he gave up on doing anything constructive and went for a brief walk. He ended up stopping by the local green grocer just before he closed for the evening and stopped to say hello, only to somehow end up leaving with a bag full of groceries. Lauchlan headed back before he could do anything else in his haze, and bought a copy of the evening paper as he made his way home again, locking up as the lamplighter was beginning his evening rounds.

 

He put his purchases away, and sat in the front parlour. He tried to read the paper, but his thoughts drifted away from him time and time again. Theresa found him a little later, staring listlessly at page five.

 

“You alright?” she asked, her brow creased in concern.

 

Lauchlan jolted a little at her entrance, but recovered admirably, and put the paper aside.

 

“I’ve a lot on my mind today,” he said, shrugging sheepishly.

 

“You look it,” she said, and cocked her head, a hand on her hip as she evaluated him.

 

“Something to do with that friend of yours?” she asked.

 

“In a way,” Lauchlan sighed, and he stood up to walk with her to the scullery.

 

“I though you just played some backgammon. You don’t owe him any money do you?” she asked, her eyes widening.

 

“Theresa, you _know_ how I feel about gambling,” he said, shaking his head. Theresa had often bemoaned the Shier’s bridge nights and the mess that was made of the finances when they lost money, and Lauchlan had moaned right along with her. He didn’t approve of gambling, it was an irresponsible waste of money and it robbed any sense of sportsmanship and good fun from what would otherwise be a friendly game. Wagering a few pennies worth of sweets was as far as he’d ever go.

 

“Still, you seem so glum. Has something happened? I promise the Master’s won’t hear a word if you’d like me to lend an ear. They’ll be busy with their evening entertainments for the next hour or so at any rate,” she said, softly touching his shoulder.

 

Lauchlan smiled at her, her concern planted a slow, easy warmth deep in his chest.

 

“I’d like that, care to join me for dinner?” he asked.

 

Theresa blushed sharply, and her jaw worked a moment before she spoke.

 

“I’ve already eaten,” she murmured.

 

“Well, care to sit with me a while? I’d hate to see your fine cooking go cold,” he said.

 

Theresa smiled shyly, and nodded. Lauchlan boiled the kettle, made a pot of tea and put some jam biscuits on a plate, set the dining table for the two of them before taking his dinner tray and sitting down opposite Theresa, who perched uncertainly on the cushioned chair.

 

He waited a moment for Theresa fix her tea the way she liked it and take a sip before he started on his dinner. It was roast beef, same as every Sunday, though it was less elaborate than usual, as it was growing harder to get vegetables and herbs with winter stuck in. Turnips seemed to be the chosen green of the night, and Lauchlan nibbled on a bit of everything before sincerely complementing Theresa on her cooking. She smiled and lifted the teacup to her mouth to hide her blush.

 

He picked over the meal for a while, avoiding Theresa’s eye, and then put his fork down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He supposed he should start the talking, it would be rude to make Theresa sit there and watch him eat.

 

“Today’s been, well, it was a good day, at first. My friend, Scargill his name is, said something that rather struck a cord in me,” he said, thinking it as good a place as any to start.

 

“Nothing nasty, I hope. I know the types you usually consort with,” she said, pulling a face.

 

“Nothing of that sort,” Lauchlan said, shaking his head. He knew Theresa didn’t care much for the cabbies, and he could hardly blame her. Even his friend Jasper tended to become a bit of a pig when a pretty woman was in his sight. It really wasn’t proper of him, but nothing Lauchlan said to him about it seemed to sink in.

 

“I’m not sure how to say it, but, well,” Lauchlan’s voice stuck in his throat, and he looked down for a moment, staring searchingly at his food. “I just realised something, and it’s shaken me a little.”

 

“It has to be an awfully important something to have you shaken like this,” she said, softly.

 

“It was a long time ago, but my friend, well, he made me take off the rose tinted glasses for a bit. I only just realized,” he said unsure of how to go on. He didn’t want to tell Theresa about Ida, what they’d done wasn’t decent, and Theresa might never look at him the same way again if she knew.

 

“A bad something?” she said, tentatively.

 

“A, a depressing something,” he corrected. “I guess, I guess the best way to say it is that I thought I had something, but really, I lost it a very long time ago, if I ever really had it. I think I finally understand why now, but, I’m very sad to see it go,” he muttered.

 

“I’m not sure I understand,” said Theresa, shaking her head.

 

“I don’t think _I_ do, to be honest. I just, I thought I felt one way and now, now I don’t. I think I miss the feeling more than I do her, and I don’t know what sort of man that makes me,” he said, rubbing his forehead absentmindedly with one hand.

 

Comprehension dawned on Theresa’s face, and Lauchlan felt his stomach sink when he realized that he let a ‘her’ slip through. He closed his eye shamefully and ducked his head, waiting for Theresa’s reaction.

 

To his surprise he felt a hand rest softly atop his own, squeezing it gently. He looked up in surprise, and saw Theresa looking at him with a soft expression on her face.

 

“You loved her,” she said, no hint of a question in her tone.

 

“I did, but she’s been gone for a while now. I tried but,” Lauchlan sighed, staring sadly at his plate.

 

“Listen to me. You’re a good man Huxley. I know this must sound feeble, but if this woman was the one to do the leaving then you’re probably best off without her. There’s no shame in letting go,” she said, squeezing his hand firmly.

 

Lauchlan stared at his plate, his throat suddenly dry.

 

“That, that means a lot,” he croaked.

 

Theresa beamed, her eyes crinkling in their corners.

 

“Then I’m glad I could be the one to tell you, because anyone with half a heart would say the same,” she said.

 

Lauchlan wasn’t sure what to say to that, but he knew by her conviction that she was right. He had clung to Ida’s memory for a long time, too long.

 

“Thankyou, all the same. It’s been good to speak of it again, it’s been buried for a long time, and I didn’t realise how deep it went ‘till now,” he murmured.

 

Theresa smiled warmly and released his hand.

 

“Then it’s been my pleasure to help you dig it all out again. That friend of yours is to thank too, I suspect. It’s good to see you with friends round here, if you don’t mind my saying so. You spend too much time rattling around in this empty house. Speaking of wgich, shall I steer clear next Sunday for more of the same?” she said, tactfully leading them into lighter territory.

 

“I hope so, but our schedules are sporadic at best, he’ll turn up when he turns up,” Lauchlan said, starting on his meal again.

 

“Fair enough, if I see him round I’ll be sure let you two to play your games in peace. But if he leaves you flat you shan’t get any sympathy from me,” Theresa chided.

 

“Of course not. Besides, I have no intention of losing any money,” Lauchlan chuckled.

 

“Nobody ever does, but the game demands that someone must. Don’t let it be you or else you’ll be doing your own cooking from here on out,” she said, playfully waggling a finger at him.

 

Lauchlan laughed, and found that once he’d started he couldn’t stop himself, his stomach trembling as he chuckled uncontrollably.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Lauchlan, once he’d regained some sense of composure.

 

Theresa huffed and swelled up theatrically, her hands planted on her hips and her chin jutting upwards, making Lauchlan break out in laughter again, and this time Theresa dissolved into chuckles right along with him.

 

They took a few moments to calm, and Lauchlan revelled in their mutual delight. He did feel better for talking about Ida, and he was rather surprised that he’d managed to hold an actual conversation about Corbin with her without so much as blushing! It was not a particularly long one granted, but a conversation all the same.

 

It seemed an auspicious start. Perhaps he might even be able to be seen with Corbin the next game, provided he could extract a promise from him to mind his language. He was quite looking forward to another game, actually.

 

Backgammon indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended up getting finished much sooner than I thought. I’m honestly not sure about how this one turned out though. It’s a very character driven chapter, and so much of it is centred around Lauchlans inner monologue that I’m not sure if it flows properly. I’ve edited it as best I can but I’m still not sure, so please feel free to leave me your own thoughts of it in the comments, I really appreciate any and all feedback I receive.


	13. Setting The Cat Amongst The Pigeons

Corbin didn’t shadow his doorstep the following Sunday, and though Lauchlan was disappointed he didn’t worry overmuch. It was time consuming enough to look after the stables at B&B with the higher-ups looking after the financial side of things, and Corbin was running a business all on his own. Lauchlan could certainly understand how that would devour his time.

 

Still, that didn’t stop him from fidgeting and eyeing the door like a child. He fussed from sunup till sundown waiting and hoping for Corbin to show up with the backgammon set rattling cheerily in the crook of his arm, until evening came and he had to accept that he’d wasted his time.

 

The week dragged on, calming in its uneventful toil, and the Sunday that followed it was far kinder than the last. A thick envelope had come in Friday’s morning post, and the cargo it bore still brought a smile to his face as he sat down to look over it again.

 

It was a group of letters from his parents and Claire, and best of all, they had come with a large photograph. The photograph was in black and white, though there was a range of greys in between the two that was unprecedented, allowing it an astounding clarity and depth. The image itself showed the entire army of household staff, from the gatekeeper to the head steward, dressed in their finest and arranged in rows before the house’s grand gatehouse.

 

There had been staff photographs taken before, usually every few years for the household records, but this one was the first in a very long time, and the size and quality of it was astounding. It was almost a foot wide, and he could make out their faces clearly, from the white of their teeth to the buttons of their lapels. Stepfather was standing shoulder to shoulder with the other valets, his mother a few rows below with the kitchen staff just by Claire, who was smiling softly in amongst the kitchen maids.

 

Lauchlan felt shocked just looking at her, marvelling at how much older she seemed. She had light coloured hair, fair and curling like their mother’s, but she kept it braided in an elegant knot at the back of her head rather than pinning it up under her bonnet. She was taller than her fellows, wide across the shoulders like he was, but she had her fathers round face and warm, expressive eyes. She had a quiet confidence about her, radiating from her beaming smile. It took Lauchlan a moment to realise what it was, and when he did it all but bowled him over.

 

Between this photograph and the last, she had grown up. She was a woman now.

 

It took him a little while to recover from the shock, but even as he drank up the sight of her he felt the warm glow of pride infuse him. His sister had grown, and just looking at her he knew what a fine woman she made. No brother could ask for more than that, even if he did yearn to turn back the clock and reclaim the rambunctious little baby girl he’d left behind all those years ago.

 

Once he’d recovered, he turned his attention to the letters that had accompanied the photograph. According to his fathers letter the masters had taken particular care with this years photograph because of the upcoming nuptials. Lauchlan didn’t understand exactly why such a thing was needed, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Apparently, his family and several of the old crowd had chipped in to buy him a print.

 

He spent his Sunday morning having the photograph framed, as it was too large for any of the frames he already owned. He bought himself a simple lunch of pea soup and a bread roll from the local street vendors, and was home not long after. With the afternoon well under way, he made himself comfortable in his study and went about writing his replies.

 

By rights, the study should have been the second bedroom, but Lauchlan had no use for it as a bachelor, and had no need for a guest room, as he knew no one willing to stay for any length of time. It had become his cozy little bolthole instead, cool in summer and warm in winter thanks to the fire that crackled cheerily in the hearth. It had a bright window that overlooked his post stamp of a garden and let in the afternoon sunlight, if there was any to be had and it was furnished sparsely, but comfortably. He had a pair of bookshelves flanking the fireplace, which were still only half filled with volumes on economics, mathematics, and horse husbandry that he consulted for his work, and a few smaller, well-thumbed novels that he had liked enough to keep. He had a low settee in front of the fireplace for his reading, and a sideboard below the window for filing old papers and the odd bit of bric-a-brac he’d acquired over the years. There was a sturdy roll top desk pushed against the opposite wall, paired with a leather-cushioned chair.

 

The desk had been Percival’s, it was not the prettiest piece of woodwork but it was crammed with drawers and compartments for storage, no inch of space left empty, and Lauchlan could spend hours fiddling about with it. One of the lower compartments contained a heavy lockbox, though the key was long lost which rendered it rather ineffectual. He had also found a few secret, spring-loaded compartments hidden beside the letter trays and a false bottom in the lowest drawer. There had been nothing inside but a few loose coins and a long outdated chequebook, which had been disappointing to say the least, but the fact that it held such secrets at all had set his imagination racing.

 

He made himself comfortable at his desk, a cup of tea by his elbow and Vagabond lounging across his lap, the new photograph set reverently upon the mantel, and got out his best stationary to write.

 

He first wrote short letters of thanks to those who had helped buy him the print, letting them know how he valued it, and offering them his best wishes.

 

He then wrote out a reply to his sister’s letter. Claire was always so easy to write to, she was uncomplicated and full of mischief and joy, always writing about cheerful, fanciful things, from what book she’d been reading to what she’d been playing at with her friends, to what she’d been making. She loved needlework, embroidery and sewing. Mother had encouraged and supported her in her hobby as much as she could, and they both had hoped that she’d one day find work for a tailor or seamstress, as they had all learned first hand how ephemeral a servant’s life could be.

 

Apparently she’d been asked to make a young child’s christening gown by a friend of a friend, and she gushed on about how sweet the child would look, and how proud she was of her work and how it was turning out. She’d drawn a little sketch of what her creation would look like when it was finished, and true to her word, the sketched child did look rather sweet in the embroided gown. He made sure to complement her on the design and her drawing skill, and encourage her further. She had real talent, and he hoped that she’d be able to pursue it properly one day. Her hobby made her happy like nothing else, and she deserved that happiness more than Lauchlan could properly articulate.

 

Mother was difficult to write to, though not by any fault of hers. He missed his mother terribly. Unlike stepfather, her work kept her chained to the kitchens, and allowed her precious little time to herself. He hadn’t seen her outside of the photographs since he’d been sent away, and after a lifetime spent at her side that had been hard, harder than he’d ever imagined. The letters were often a bittersweet reminder of what he used to have, and would never have again.

 

Mother wrote of her work, her friends, and her pride in him and Claire. It warmed his heart to read it, and he was glad to see that everyone was doing so well, especially with the stress of the wedding preparations hanging above their heads.

 

He penned his reply carefully, reassuring her that all was well on his part and that he had recovered from his illness, which she had inquired after, and asked after her health and the state of the preparations. He paused as he was about to pen his usual reassurance that he was content and well socialised. She asked after his friends with clockwork regularity, as she had been very concerned about him after Percival’s death and seemed to need to be reassured constantly that he was well. He had reassured her once, and since nothing ever changed, he always said the same, that he was content with the company of his co-workers, but, that was no longer so. Something had changed this time around, quite drastically.

 

He nibbled the capped end of his fountain pen worriedly, wondering if he dared to mention Corbin to his mother. He remembered what Corbin had told him, about backgammon and how it was better to act as if he had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of, but still, she was his _mother._ Speaking of such things to her just felt wrong. But, he felt remiss not mentioning Corbin on some level. Corbin had changed everything, much for the better, and not acknowledging that felt just as wrong as lying did.

 

He pulled out a scrap of blotting paper and a lead pencil, and wrote out a few aborted passages until he drafted something he was happy with.

_I have made an unusual acquaintance recently. I doubt he is the sort you would entertain, as he can be vulgar and a little ill mannered at times, but he is considerate and honest none the less, which I respect about him. I think I have found a good friend in him, despite his vulgarity. He has a liking for board games and I have discovered a modest talent for the same, much to his surprise. I find that I do enjoy his company, and we have made arrangements to meet and play again._

He read it over, and then nodded, satisfied, and inked the passage into his letter.

 

He would not dare to mention backgammon specifically, no matter how inconspicuous it was, but he knew she would be glad to hear he’d found a pastime he enjoyed, and a friend to share it with. He felt lighter for sharing a part of the truth with her, no matter how small.

 

He finished his letter, blotted the ink, and set it aside. He continued to work at his stepfather’s missive, and had worked partway through when somebody rapped loudly at the front door.

 

Lauchlan‘s heart leaped at the jarring sound. He carefully capped his pen, snuffed the lamps, weighed down his papers and pried Vagabond from his lap before he hurried down the stairs to the hall, where a familiar silhouette was looming behind the coloured glass.

 

He felt his cheeks flush at the sight, and he took a moment to regain his composure before he opened the door.

 

The air outside had a sharp bite to it, and crisp white snowflakes drifted lazily downwards from the heavy clouds above. Corbin wasn’t as bedraggled as he usually appeared, but his dark bird’s nest of hair and bushy sideburns had caught the precipitation, dusting him with white to the point where he vaguely resembled a disgruntled pastry.

 

“Corbin, how nice to see you,” Lauchlan said, cheerily stepping aside to usher him in.

 

Corbin smiled indulgently and rolled his eyes as he stepped over the threshold, the familiar game set rattling beneath his arm.

 

“Ah, are you in for another game today?” Lauchlan asked, though he made sure that the door was securely shut and bolted before he said as much, just in case that were not so.

 

“Well, I’m hardly here for the scenic views and exotic wildlife, now am I? Unless there’s something you want to tell me about that cat of yours,” Corbin said, grinning wolfishly.

 

Lauchlan snorted in laughter, holding a hand over his mouth.

 

“Well, we have had a number of pigeon sightings recently, should that take your fancy I can set a chair out in the back garden for you. You can birdwatch all you like,” Lauchlan said, chuckling.

 

“I think the cat’ll do me fine. Now, the front parlour I take it?” Corbin said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Ah, you’ve actually caught me in the middle of some writing I need to finish,” Lauchlan said, shrugging sheepishly.

 

“Want me gone then?” Corbin said, cocking an eyebrow and turned to gesture to the door.

 

“What? No! No definitely not. I just need a few minutes to finish everything. I mean, if you don’t mind waiting, of course. Do you, ah, do you remember where the tea set is?” Lauchlan stuttered, blushing as he stumbled over his hasty reassurances.

 

“Yes,” Corbin drawled, the very picture of patience.

 

“Well, ah, just, make yourself at home, and ah, feel free to help yourself to a pot. Oh, and if you could bolt the scullery door, I’d appreciate it,” Lauchlan stuttered.

 

Corbin shook his head and grinned in quiet amusement, and let himself into the scullery as Lauchlan scurried back upstairs to finish his letter.

 

He returned to his desk to find Vagabond laying smugly on his papers. He sighed in wearily exasperation as he clapped and cajoled her back onto the floor, and spent a good minute brushing the long grey hairs off his writing implements. Fortunately the ink had dried before she’d sat, so she hadn’t smeared any of his work, though there were a few sooty paw prints in the margins. With Corbin waiting for him he was hardly about to start over again, so he brushed off what he could and went back to his stepfather’s letter.

 

It was shorter than most, given his stepfathers visit not long ago, but light hearted and cheery none the less. He was the sort who could weave long tale after long tale, each story threading easily into the next. Though, he tended to limit his letters to series of vignettes, asides, and terrible jokes, lest each letter be long enough to bind and sell as a digest. It was easy to write to him, and he had already past the more personal messages and had reached the point where he needed only offer his own small quips and comments on the stories he had been presented with, and berate his awful jokes accordingly.

 

He was nearing the finish of it when he heard Corbin approach, the door hinge squeaking shrilly as he let himself into the room and padded softly across the floorboards. Lauchlan looked up and smiled, noticing that he held a cup and saucer in each hand.

 

Corbin grinned in return, and came over to his side, and hovered indecisively as he tried to find an empty patch of desk large enough to set the teacup down.

 

Lauchlan blushed and stuttered his thanks, sweeping the used blotting paper into a pile and moving the paper weights around till he had the room to set the cup and saucer down.

 

“I’ll be done in a few minutes, please take a seat by all means,” he said before taking a sip of the tea. Corbin had made it with milk again, but no sugar. Lauchlan was beginning to like it that way.

 

Corbin hummed and nodded, and his eyes swept over the piles of used blotting paper and his mother’s letter, which sat at the top of the pile. Lauchlan blushed, the back of his neck prickled as he suddenly felt rather defensive. He knew he had no reason to, but the letters were private. There was nothing untoward written in them, but they were more than just letters. They were the sum of his relationship with his family, the only link they shared anymore, and to have another person intrude upon that, even in passing, got his back up like nothing else, and he felt his shoulders tense as he put a hand on his protectively atop his papers.

 

He had been about to move them when Corbin turned abruptly away, and Lauchlan sighed in relief and returned to his writing.

 

He wrote for several more minutes, sipping the tea as he tied up the last few paragraphs, and read through both his stepfather’s missive and his own reply to check for anything he may have missed. Finding nothing wrong, he signed his name at the foot of the letter with a cheerful flourish and capped his pen. He blotted it carefully, snuffed the lamp, and pulled down the lid of the roll top to keep Vagabond from sitting on it again.

 

He stood and turned around, intending to join Corbin on the settee, but found him standing by the hearth, looking at the photographs arranged on the mantelpiece.

 

“Odd collection you have here,” Corbin said, sipping his tea.

 

“It does look a lot that way, doesn’t it,” Lauchlan said, chuckling lightly. He supposed the photographs would look a bit odd to anyone who didn’t know the connections.

 

He had three staff photographs, his most recent print, one from a few years back and an older one from before Claire had even been born, both of which had been taken on the other side of the house, making them look completely different from the newest addition, as well as Percival’s wedding photograph and a lovely needlework landscape that Claire had made for him several years ago.

 

“This is, my family, well not all of them of course, but this is my mother, my stepfather and my sister Claire,” he said, reaching around Corbin’s shoulder to pick up the new photograph. He pointed them out to Corbin one by one. “This is where I used to work until, well, you know what happened. They still work there, and we had these taken every few years, this one is the first I’ve gotten in a long while,” he said, beaming proudly.

 

Corbin stared mutely at the photograph, his expression inscrutable as his eyes raked across the rows of servants.

 

“She looks like you,” he said, pausing to swallow the last dregs of his tea and set the cup upon the mantelpiece.

 

“We both take after our mother. She has her fathers way with words though, and she got both our shares of mother’s talents,” he said, grinning fondly as he gazed into the photograph.

 

“I take it she made that then,” Corbin said, gesturing to the landscape.

 

“Oh yes amongst other things,” said Lauchlan, nodding emphatically. They sent him a package of hand made gifts every year at the beginning of May, his birthdate, and he cherished them dearly. The quilt she and their mother had made for him was one of his most precious possessions. It was made of inexpensive white, beige and grey coloured linen, but it was clear that they had sunk hours upon hours into painstakingly assembling all the little tessellated squares and embroiding them, creating intricate patterns with only three different shades of fabric, a needle and an endless well of patience.

 

“She’s very talented, oh here look,” he ran back to the desk and lifted the lid of it, and returned to show Corbin the little sketch she’d made. “She just wrote to me the other day, and she’s making a christening gown for a friend of hers. I don’t know how she finds the time to sew with her work what it is, but it’s beautiful all the same. We all hope that she might become a professional seamstress one day, but we don’t want to push her too hard. She’s young still, and I think she needs a chance at meeting someone and settling down before we go and push her into a profession, you know what people think of working women,” Lauchlan said shaking his head sadly.

 

It was a sad and wholly unfair fact that people tended to look down on women who worked to support themselves. Lauchlan couldn’t understand it. He knew better than most that life was not always kind or reliable, and charity could only be drawn upon for so long before it started running dry. He’d rather have a wife willing to gather up her pride and work for her bread than one who would starve just to save face.

 

“That they need to eat like everyone else?” Corbin said, gruffly.

 

“You know that, and I know that,” said Lauchlan, sighing, “but others are not so understanding. We just want her to be happy, to not have to go through what I did, and if marriage will do that for her, well,” Lauchlan shrugged, and gently set the frame upon the mantel again.

Lauchlan didn’t feel he was ready to lose his sister to some suitor, but he wasn’t so selfish as to say so. He wanted her to be happy. So far, no man had managed that, for which he was very quietly grateful. She had written to him before about potential suitors and fleeting interests, but none ever seemed to hold up to her standards once she had the time to think things through. They had always been too simple minded, too self absorbed, or had too few prospects or ambition, so she passed the courtships over before they had the chance to amount to anything. Mother often bemoaned that she was too choosy for her own good, and Lauchlan humoured her as patiently, knowing that she was only letting off steam. Claire deserved better than a life hidden away downstairs, seldom seen and never heard, and no matter how their Mother moaned and fussed, they both knew she felt the same.

 

“That’s good of you,” Corbin muttered.

 

“She’s my family, what else could I possibly be but good to her?” Lauchlan said, tilting his head quizzically.

 

“What else? You have to ask what else? If you don’t know the answer, then I don’t think you want to know at all,” Corbin said, staring quietly into the photograph as if that was a perfectly simple explanation, before shaking his head and banishing the moody look from his face.

 

“So where are you then?” he barked.

 

“Corbin, I don’t… I’m right here” he stuttered quietly for a moment before being interrupted by Corbin’s snort of laughter.

 

“In the _picture_ , Lauchlan,” he said, his laughter dancing in his eyes.

 

Lauchlan blushed sharply. His shoulders tensed, but he willed himself to calm, and reached across the mantle to retrieve the oldest of the photographs. It was tucked behind the needlepoint landscape, and easily overlooked.

 

It was in a bit of a state. The surface was foxed, discoloured by a dusting of soot and ringed by moisture. The cardstock was crisscrossed with worn folding lines, the edges nibbled and bent by all the years it had spent tucked away in his breast pocket as he was tossed from job to job. The poor butler had lost his head all together, and the rest were rendered rather difficult to recognize through the accumulated grime, but that didn’t matter much. He’d never forget these men and women, they’d been his family for so, so long. He knew them all by heart.

 

“That’s me there with Mother,” he said, pointing to the lower right hand corner.

 

The photograph was taken a good year after they’d first found work there, but a few years before Theodore had begun to court his mother. She had shed her deep mourning garments by that point, wearing the simpler dress and aprons of a kitchen worker, but she wore dark greys where the others wore whites and creams, and a black crape bonnet with a dark veil that covered her face and hair. She stood a good step apart from her fellows, her expression shadowed by the veil. Lauchlan remembered that day. She not been happy in the slightest, but determined to pretend that she was for the sake of the pushy photographer and his snobbish apprentice, even as they turned their noses up at her.

 

It was disquieting, seeing her in those clothes. He barely remembered the deep mourning, he had been to young to remember much of that time, but he remembered the veil. Remembered how people would look at her, their expressions contorted and speech haulting, remembered how they would always seem to avoid her, speaking only when they needed something of her and never about anything that really mattered, nothing that could possibly make a difference, nothing that might make her smile for once. Remembered that sometimes she’d cried over it, when she though he wasn’t awake, but she always, always pinned it back on no matter how it upset her. Even now he was grown it was hard to look at her dressed in such things. He respected his father of birth of course, and would not wish to see the man’s memory dishonoured, but he’d have been gladder had she never been made to dress in such a way.

 

The veil was like a wall between her and the world, as insurmountable as it was intangible. She had not been allowed to laugh or smile for as long as she wore the mantle of her widowing, or else people would glare, and say awful, awful things about her and her so called disregard for her deceased husband, when any who so much as spoke to her would know that it was not so. And that was only what he had witnessed. He shuddered to think how she was treated when he wasn’t there to see it.

 

Lauchlan didn’t like it, would not ever like it. If he could help it, he’d make sure that no woman, be it his mother or his sister or anyone else he cared the slightest bit for, would have to flagellate herself in such a way. But Lauchlan couldn’t help it, and as such he could do nothing more than tuck the grim sight away, and remind himself that she was happy now, with Theodore and Claire at her side, and would never have to stand so apart from anyone again.

 

He himself was dressed much the same as all the other in-betweens and pageboys, a linen cuffed shirt, a simple child’s cravat, short trousers, a woollen waistcoat, a jacket and a soft cap. He was small then, barely as tall as his mothers hip, and he looked strangely blurred, the edges of his body insubstantial, like the soft nimbus of light that glowed around a candle flame, his hands and feet little more than smudges of light colour, and the features of his face looked strange. He was turned away a little, his smeared face looking off to the left of the frame, his eyes shadowed and features indistinguishable from the smear of light grey that was him, stretched out and blurred together. The photographer’s apprentice had told him that he hadn’t held still enough to for the image to set, but Lauchlan hadn’t understood why or how that made a difference at the time. It had scared him as a boy, as he looked just as he imagined a ghost to look.

 

“I know it’s not the best, but this is the only photograph I have with me in it,” he said, handing it over.

 

“I, thought, I hoped you might be…” he trailed off, cocking his head and staring into the photograph, his expression was twisted in a repressed grimace.

Lauchlan knew what he’d wanted to see. It wasn’t hard to figure out. He’d thirsted for that selfsame thing for far longer than he ever cared to admit, begged for it, dreamed of it, but the fact of matter was that remembering only made the reality worse. He’d come to be grateful for the lack of reminders.

 

“So do I, sometimes, but I think it’s better this way,” said Lauchlan, his throat tight as he looked away.

 

Corbin looked at him for a moment, the battered old print cradled tenderly in rough hands. He nodded, his lips pursed, and handed the frame back. Lauchlan returned it to the mantle, the right hand side tucked surreptitiously behind the landscape.

 

“It’s a bit arrogant, isn’t it,” Corbin said a moment later, thoughtfully tilting his head and sweeping his gaze up and down the mantel.

 

“What is?” Lauchlan asked, confused by the abrupt change in topic.

 

“The photographs. They’re all a bit, boastful I suppose. Like they wanted to have a brag about all money they have, so they play with the staff like a bunch of dolls, dressing them up and all. I mean, Christ, look at them, they’re a bunch of fops,” he grumbled pointing to the row of footmen in their bright velvet waistcoats and bleached white shirts, their coat tails long enough to brush below their knees.

 

“That’s just how footmen dress Corbin, it’s all very standard. If things had turned out any differently I’d be in there with them,” Lauchlan laughed, shrugging helplessly.

 

Corbin pulled a face, and Lauchlan laughed harder still.

 

“If you think that’s bad, you should see what some of the poor lady’s maids had to put up with. I swear, the year that crinolines went out of fashion they nicked a case of wine and drank through the night for the joy of it,” Lauchlan said, laughing at the memory.

 

“And here I though that you lot took your work seriously,” Corbin said, shooting him an accusatory glare.

 

Lauchlan laughed and shook his head.

 

“Nobody can be serious all of the time, not in that sort of work. It’d send you mad,” Lauchlan said, shrugging.

 

Corbin smiled fondly at that, and chuckled.

 

“I can understand that. Now, I believe we agreed to a game?” Corbin said.

 

Lauchlan nodded enthusiastically, and returned the letter to his desk before he followed Corbin downstairs to the front parlour.

 

Corbin had found the sweet jar it seemed. He had set a bowl of soft toffees down on the table, the wax paper wrappings wilting in the heat of the fire, but the liquorice had been usurped by sugared ginger.

 

They sat, Corbin taking his favourite chair again, and set up the board. Corbin took the red, leaving Lauchlan to the white, and true to his word he had brought a sheet of butchers paper and laid it out on the coffee table. It had a set of tables drawn in lead pencil, ready for a transcription to be taken down.

 

Corbin handed him a dice cup, and they got started with little ado. They both rolled low for the first few turns, and said little but for their umming and arring as they considered their predicament. It was not an uncomfortable silence, instead a focused and companionable one, and Lauchlan quite enjoyed himself.

 

The game dragged on for a good twenty minutes or so, until Corbin finally sent his last blot to home and called the victory, claiming a handful of sweets as his due.

 

He crunched loudly on the ginger as he set up the blots for a new game, his face scrunching at the dry, spicy heat of it, but he seemed to enjoy the treat all the same.

 

Lauchlan had always been a bit odd about ginger, he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. He’d usually buy himself a bit as a winter treat, as it kept very well, and most of his usually favourites rose in price at this time of year with the winter thinning the supply of fresh foods. But then he’d eat it and remember why he’d never bought himself any the rest of the year round. The taste was nice enough at first, but the spice of it would linger unpleasantly, regardless of what he ate or drank, and it had a strange, gritty texture that would cling to his senses long after eating, making him feel a lot like he’d ingested a very sweet mouthful of sand rather than any sort of confection.

 

At least Corbin seemed to like them. They’d started a new game, and he’d carefully picked out several more of the little sugared lumps and munched on them as he cogitated on his roll.

 

Lauchlan was struck with a sudden craving for the confection. He had no clear idea why, he knew well enough that he would probably regret it, but he wanted some. He remembered how Corbin had tasted so sweet on his tongue from the meal they had shared, and wondered if he’d like the taste of it any better if it was on Corbin’s lips, Corbin’s tongue. He wanted to kiss him, he realised, wanted to grab him by his collar and drag him over to meet him, wanted to sink down into the taste of him and not come up again till Monday.

 

He flushed bright red, and fixed his eye on his dice, his hand trembling a little as he shook the cup and tipped it, letting them scatter across the board. He couldn’t do that, not here and not now. The doors may be bolted but the windowsweren’t shuttered, and the fine gauze curtains wouldn’t help them any. They were meant to protect the house from flies, not onlookers, and though the weather was dreary the streets were far from deserted.

 

“Are you going to move, or are you planning on starving me out of the game?” quipped Corbin.

 

Lauchlan’s blush intensified, and he looked down at his roll and properly saw it. He’d rolled double ones, hardly a roll worthy of deep contemplation, so he hastily moved two blots along and returned his dice to the cup.

 

“Beg your pardon, I was distracted for a moment there,” he murmured.

 

Corbin smiled indulgently and hummed a long, low note. His eyes were fixed on the board, but Lauchlan could see the laughter shining in them.

 

He fought to regain his focus, and managed to scrape up a victory, claiming some ginger for himself. He was no less ambivalent about the taste than he had been before, but he imagined the sensation of Corbin in his arms, his lips pressed against his own, and shuddered. Lauchlan could not banish the fantasy if he had wished to, which he did not, and would not, so it lingered like the dry heat of ginger upon his tongue.

 

They played on until late afternoon, enjoying one another’s company for a time, and spoke of little but their game and other light subjects. Lauchlan was proud to say that was only caught staring at Corbin’s crooked smile the once, and Corbin didn’t reprimand him for it, as he found his embarrassment amusing. Corbin called their game to a halt once he ran out of tablespace and went to tally up the score.

 

Corbin was quite frustrated to discover that while he had won the greater number of matches Lauchlan had a greater number of gammons beneath his belt, making discerning the proper winner a subjective decision at best.

 

After some minutes deliberating Corbin simply threw up his hands and declared a draw, though Lauchlan suspected he had won by some small margin and Corbin just wanted to save face, but he didn’t say anything about it. He was much more inclined to keep his fussing for things worth fussing over, and a bowl of sweets was far from that.

 

At around six o-clock someone rapped at the scullery door, loud enough to echo through the house.

 

Lauchlan stiffened instinctively, immediately nervous, but Corbin showed no signs of discomfort.

 

“Are you expecting someone?” he asked, coolly.

 

“It’s probably Theresa, the maid from next door,” he explained, fidgeting nervously.

 

“Then you should answer it,” he said, as another knock came, louder than the first.

 

“Yes, but, but I, but Corbin,” Lauchlan stuttered, but Corbin shushed him with an exasperated look, and leaned across the table to clasp his shoulders.

 

“Remember what we talked about. You’ve nothing to hide,” he said.

 

“Yes, yes, alright,” Lauchlan muttered. He took a moment to relish in the sensation of Corbin’s hands upon him, and then rose to his feet, determined but a feeling a little shaky none the less. He had nothing to fear from Theresa, and he and Corbin had done nothing but play backgammon, _literal_ backgammon, all afternoon anyway. He had absolutely nothing to hide from her.

 

He stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep them still, and hurried down to the scullery. He drew back the bolt and unlatched the door, pushing it outwards.

 

Theresa was dressed in a light cotton dress that she often wore when cooking, or otherwise spending time with the hot coal fires, and a grease-stained apron. She carried the china dinner tray with both hands, steam slowly wicking out from the thumb notch in the cloche. She was shivering hard enough that the tray trembled audibly, her breath fogging in the cool winter air. Lauchlan ushered her in, and she smiled gratefully as he shut the door against the cold.

 

“It’s not like you to bolt your doors at this time of day,” she commented as she set the tray upon the table.

 

“It slipped my mind,” Lauchlan lied, the untruth sticky and bitter on his tongue. He looked away from her.

 

“Ah, well, no harm done. I’ve put together a proper Sunday roast this week, mustard beef, steamed broad beans, and roasted potatoes and turnips. I managed to get some rosemary and black pepper corns, and I did the gravy up with horseradish for you especially,” she declared, sounding rather proud of herself.

 

“I’m sure it’ll be lovely, it certainly smells delicious,” he said, and Theresa grinned ecstatically at the flattery. He turned away guiltily, and busied himself by fetching the tea caddy, digging into the hidden stash there to retrieve her daily half-penny.

 

“Isn’t it a little early for dinner?” he asked, finally retrieving the proper coin and turning to face her again, though he felt colour on his cheeks and his stomach fluttered nervously.

 

“The master wanted an early tea today. A social call I’m told, though I’m not sure of the full story. He and the missus shall be leaving soon, and not be back till late. I’m finished with my work for the day, not sure what I’ll do with my evening,” she said, glancing out the window, her cheeks colouring.

 

“Well, it’ll be good for you to have a little time to yourself. You ought to put your feet up for a bit while they’re gone,” Lauchlan said, smiling and nudging her gently as he pressed the coin into her hand. Everyone needed to let their hair down every now and again, Theresa especially. He doubted she got much time to herself and heavens knew she deserved it with how hard she worked.

 

“I, well, yes. I’ll be doing that of course,” she stuttered, her cheeks flushing red.

 

Lauchlan smiled in a manner he hoped was reassuring and said his thanks and his goodbyes. She dipped into a curtsey and went on her way, Lauchlan bolting the door behind her.

 

He placed the dinner tray on the oven rack. The fire had long gone out but the ashes still held warmth, enough to keep his dinner warm for a little while at least. He returned to the front parlour to find the backgammon set put away and Corbin leaning against the doorjamb, examining him with an inscrutable look on his face.

 

“Is something the matter? Did I say something wrong?” Lauchlan asked, glancing back to the scullery worriedly.

 

Corbin sighed heavily and shook his head, his gaze sweeping upward exasperatedly.

 

“That girl,” he started.

 

“Her name is Theresa,” Lauchlan interjected. He had hated it when people had called him ‘boy’ and he doubted Theresa would like ‘girl’ any better.

 

“Theresa,” he conceded, tilting his head, “seems awfully fond of you,” he said.

 

“She is a kind soul that one. Works herself a bit too hard sometimes, but she’s kind enough to lend me a hand, keeps me from starving at the least. The Shier’s are lucky to have her,” he said.

 

“Would you rather?” Corbin asked, one eyebrow hitched up

 

“Rather what?” Lauchlan asked, confused.

 

“Have her,” Corbin huffed.

 

“Well, no. I did think of hiring a housekeeper on at one time, but I thought better of it. I rather like having my home to myself, chores and all. It’s just the cooking I struggle with,” he said with a shrug and a grin.

 

Corbin let out a sudden bark of humourless laughter, and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead.

 

“You just have no idea do you? The poor thing all but spelled it out to you and all,” he groaned, shaking his head sadly, and then tipped his face back to glare at the ceiling.

 

“Corbin, what on earth are you talking about?” Lauchlan said, as sternly as he could manage.

 

“She wants you to join her,” he sighed, still eyeing the rafters.

 

“Join her? Join her, join her like _that_? What, you, you have no idea what you’re talking about! She’s a sweet girl, she’d never do such a thing! Now you keep her out of this,” Lauchlan exclaimed, furious on Theresa’s behalf.

 

To his surprise Corbin burst out laughing, true, humorous laughter this time, and Lauchlan’s anger curdled further.

 

“If this is a joke then it isn’t funny! She’s an honourable young lady and a good friend. You have no right to say such awful things behind her back like that!” he snapped.

 

“I didn’t mean join her in that sense, though she may well want to get there at some point. All I’m saying is that that girl is clearly trying to fish for your attention. ‘No idea what I’ll do with my evening,’ indeed. She wanted you to invite her here, or visit her. Really, I couldn’t even see her and I could tell she was laying it on you rather thick. Poor thing,” he said, shaking his head and rubbing at his temple with one hand.

 

Lauchlan flushed red, embarrassed. He was just too used to Corbin’s euphemisms by now that he was finding them where there weren’t any to be found.

 

“I, I don’t, was she really? I didn’t know she was lonely, I mean she sees me every day for goodness sake, how was I to know?” he said, sinking into a chair and worrying at his lip. If Corbin was telling the truth, then he must be a poor friend indeed. How long had Theresa been trying to tell him these things?

 

“I doubt she’d be lonely, though she certainly could be. You’d know her best,” he said with a shrug. He walked around the coffee table, and flopped gracelessly into the chair opposite him.

 

“I don’t think she’s lonely, she never seemed so before. But, but I suppose she must be,” Lauchlan said, wondrously. When he thought about it, it did make sense, with how she always seemed to point out that she had a free moment, though he didn’t understand why she didn’t just ask to spend more time with him. She must’ve known he’d never refuse her.

 

“If she’s how you say she is, I’d say she’s interested in something a little more serious. Really, if that was any indication the poor girl probably started dropping hints _months_ ago,” he said, staring at him like he’d just done something monumentally stupid, but had reached the point where nothing was surprising anymore.

 

“Serious?” Lauchlan squeaked.

 

“Flirting, Lauchlan. If she’s as sweet an honourable as you insist she is then she’d probably had her cap set at you for quite some time trying to get you to notice and court her,” she drawled, dryly.

 

“Court her?” Lauchlan quailed.

 

“Want a cracker do we?” Corbin laughed.

 

Lauchlan opened his mouth in shock, but snapped it shut a moment later and flopped back into the chair.

 

“I don’t, I don’t believe this. I don’t believe you. You’re pulling my leg,” he whined.

 

Corbin shrugged airily and shifted in his chair, crossing one leg neatly over the other.

 

“Look, not everyone is going to turn up at your doorstep in sandwich boards declaring their undying affections to all and sundry. I may not know the girl but I heard her clear as day, and she wanted you to go with her just now. I can only guess as to what she wanted to do with you once she got you. She might want to roast and eat you for supper for all I know, but she wanted you all the same,” he said, shrugging.

 

“But, but Corbin. You don’t understand, she, she’s barely more than a child. Lord almighty she can’t be older than sixteen! My little sister is older than that! She can’t possibly, she just can’t,” he stuttered, his thoughts a confusing whirl of denials and horrifying realisation. He didn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it, but it just explained _so_ _much_.

 

“Just because she’s young doesn’t mean she’s made of stone,” he said, tilting his head to one side and waving his hands about, though to what purpose Lauchlan couldn’t tell.

 

“Corbin please just, no. I just, I don’t want to think about her that way, not now, not ever,” he said, burying his face in his hands.

 

Corbin sighed, but remained obligingly quiet as Lauchlan pulled himself together.

 

“I need to head home before all light is lost,” he said a few minutes later, eyeing the dim twilight outside.

 

Lauchlan looked out onto the street. The sun had set some time before and the twilight was fading into dusk. The night was made darker by the heavy black clouds that swallowed up the crescent moon and it’s meagre light. The streetlights were lit, their lights flickering valiantly through the gloom, but they made little difference.

 

“You’d better be off then,” he said, feeling suddenly weary.

 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you like that, but you do understand don’t you? She’s a child. I don’t even want to imagine what sort of man would, would, well,” he shuddered, his stomach rolling. He didn’t want to think about her that way. Didn’t even want to think of the sort of man who’d want to think about her that way.

 

“Hey now, I didn’t mean it like that,” Corbin barked.

 

Lauchlan felt Corbin grip his shoulder, and he looked up into his eyes. Corbin was standing now, and looked down at him with a torn expression.

 

“Then what _did_ you mean?” Lauchlan asked, bewildered.

 

Corbin sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb.

 

“She’s flesh and blood. You’re kind to her, you treat her like an equal, you own a home big enough for a family, you keep a steady income and steady hours and you’ve a pretty face to top the lot off. Why shouldn’t she want your attention?” he said, his voice patient and pitched low, like he was trying to explain something grave to a very small child.

 

“Because she’s too _young_!” he exclaimed, rubbing his forehead. “I’m twice her age Corbin, she can’t be interested in such things, least of all with me,” he sighed

 

“She’s old enough to dream Lauchlan, would you begrudge her that? Heavens know I started a lot younger than she has,” Corbin snapped.

 

Lauchlan felt his entire train of thought stutter, and then shudder again into frantic motion as Corbin’s words sunk in. He didn’t even want to imagine what Corbin was doing at that age, but his thoughts raced regardless of his wishes.

 

“Corbin, please, I just don’t want to know. It’s none of my business anyway. I don’t want that from her in any case so can we please leave it?” he sighed, his eye focused pointedly on the floor.

 

Corbin leaned back and lifted his hands up in a pacifying gesture, and gathered up his things.

 

“I’ll be on my way then,” he said, lightly, and turned to the door.

 

“Wait, let me,” Lauchlan said, and hurried after him.

 

He took the backgammon set from him, and helped Corbin back into his overcoat, to which he complained only minimally.

 

“Corbin, I am sorry you know. The business with Theresa aside, I enjoyed you coming around,” he murmured.

 

Corbin hummed and finished buttoning up his overcoat before looking up at him.

 

“It’s no trouble. You sit and enjoy your dinner,” Corbin laughed, winking cheekily at him.

 

Lauchlan gaped for a moment, the little quip throwing him for a loop. It was a simple enough sentiment, but it brought a dark flush to his cheeks.

 

“You’d, you’d be welcome to join me, if you’d like,” he offered, a shy smile quirking into place by it’s own admission.

 

Corbin huffed and shook his head, and with a brief smile and a brush of his hand against Lauchlan’s shoulder, he stepped over the threshold and out onto the street below, quickly disappearing into the twilight gloom.

 

Lauchlan stared wistfully after him for a moment, but then shook the thoughts away and shut the door.

 

He took the tray out of the oven, setting himself down at the dining table with the elaborate Sunday roast.

 

It was a fine roast, rather over spiced, but that was a matter of taste more than anything else. It was cooked just so, crisp skinned, but still a little pink in the centre, moist and tender throughout. He was halfway through his meal, doing what he could to concentrate on the lovely food and push the unsavoury conversation from his mind, when a realisation hit him like a kick to the head.

 

Corbin had called him handsome. Well, he’d used the word pretty if he was going to be entirely accurate, but there was no way in heaven that a word like that could be associated with a man like him.

 

He hadn’t said so in so many words. He was probably just trying to make a point and all, because really, Lauchlan _knew_ what he looked like. But no one had said anything like that to him in years. Ida had danced quite expertly around the subject. She had offered him complements on occasion, but never addressed the appearance of his face in any sort of direct manner, and Lauchlan had appreciated her diplomacy on the matter. But Corbin, he had just gone out and said it, just like that.

 

A warmth coiled in the centre of his chest, and his mouth went dry. It was such a little thing, but it cut to the quick of him, leaving warmth in its wake.

 

It was ridiculously sentimental, not to mention foolish, because Corbin was surely just making a point and didn’t mean it in that way, but there was no uprooting the warm glow that had planted itself deep in his chest and spread across his cheeks.

He shoved a forkful of turnips into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, though his throat felt dry and tight, which made swallowing more difficult than it ought to have been.

 

He knew he should ignore it, brush it off as something said in passing, but he was honest enough to admit that, a part of him would rather just take it at face value, no matter how foolhardy.

 

Could Theresa really see that in him? Had things been any different he might have turned out a little gentler to the eyes, but even then, he didn’t think anyone would consider him handsome. His proportions were unbalanced and unattractive, all long, gangly legs, and broad, blocky shoulders. He looked like he could teeter over even as he was standing still, and no tailor he’d ever known could make him look halfway decent in a suit. Then there was his constant high-strung nerves, his scatterbrained tendencies, his constant battle to articulate himself in any meaningful way. Really, any one thing would be a flaw enough on it’s own. The Jackdaw had just driven the final nail into the coffin.

 

But clearly Theresa saw _something_ in him. It couldn’t be money. He had offered to raise her daily payment on multiple occasions, but she turned him down every time. He was kind to her, true, but the Shier’s treated her well enough, and she had spoken often of being friends with the butcher, the green grocer and other folk she often dealt with. He couldn’t be the only one to show her a little kindness, and he knew for a fact that he was not the only man. The butcher had two young apprentices around Theresa’s age and the greengrocer had a son a little older, all of them strapping, cheerful lads with pleasant dispositions and a bright future ahead.

 

Why on earth didn’t she fancy any of them? Unless she did of course, but Theresa had never hinted at such a thing before, and he didn’t think her the sort to go batting her eyes at every bachelor she saw.

 

He didn’t know what to do about it. There was no doubt in his mind that Corbin was telling the truth. He’d yet to lead him wrong, and Lauchlan could see it clearly now that it was all laid out so neatly for him. It was shameful really, that he’d let it play out for so long without becoming the slightest bit suspicious of it. How long had she been doing him favours out of some misguided fancy for him, hoping for something he’d never offer her?

 

Lord, what a mess he’d made of things.

 

Lauchlan sighed, and dutifully loaded his fork up and ate another mouthful of lovely roast beef. He wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it. He felt guilty for not paying it due attention after all the work Theresa had put into it, but could not pull himself out of his agitation. He would raise her pay, the half-penny had always seemed too little for the work she did and in light of the nights revelations, he had little doubt she’d been selling herself short. He had no idea why, she had to know he wouldn’t think ill of her over a few pence, but he doubted he’d understand her reasoning whatever it was.

 

She deserved a tuppence at least, fourpence for lovely Sunday roasts like this one. Yes, he’d definitely raise her to a tuppence, and if she wouldn’t take it, he’d just raise it up in increments. That, at least, he could manage without making the situation even worse. She deserved it at any rate.

 

He finished with his meal mechanically, feeling guiltier with every bite. He let Vagabond lick the last of the gravy from the plate before he fed her properly and washed the dishes. He was preoccupied as he bathed, and found himself drawn to his speckled mirror, and he gazed into it uneasily.

 

His scars weren’t as unsightly as they used to be. Time had faded them to a milky pink that was only a shade or so lighter than his natural complexion, but flushed from the hot bath as he was, their pallor stood out uglily. They were long, angry lines, slicing up from his cheek and down from his brow, vanishing beneath the grey fabric of the patch like pale furrows ploughed through his skin. They were shinier than the umarred skin, and some were deeper than others, puckered, laying a smattering of odd dimples and ridges across his cheek and his brow. His right eyebrow had been cleaved clean in half by a thin furrow, and his ear had a slight notch from where the gash had healed crookedly.

 

He did not dare lift up the patch. Not tonight. He felt far too fragile for that.

 

He just didn’t understand what on earth she could see in him. He couldn’t see what Corbin could see in him either, for that matter. Corbin had had plenty of other lovers, that much he knew. Surely he had to have far more fertile pickings than the likes of him, especially after all that he had done to him, and yet here he was regardless.

 

Whatever it was they saw in him, he couldn’t find it.

 

It was deeply humbling, and he turned away from the mirror, his throat tight. Why would Theresa spend so much time on him? She was young, on the cusp of womanhood, she was clever, and pretty and she had the Shiers house running steadily as a well oiled clock, even if Missus Shier claimed due share of the credit. She could set her cap to anyone, and Lauchlan doubted that there were any who would fail to fancy her in return, at least a little. And yet she spent all that time and effort on _him,_ when he hadn’t even had the decency to notice.

 

He felt equal parts ashamed and disgusted with himself. He should have stopped it, should’ve have realized, should never had let her hold to a futile hope for as long as she had, should never had allowed himself to be so _familiar_ with her. Now he didn’t know what he was going to do. He had to tell her something, tell her that there was no point in hoping, no point in trying because it just wasn’t going to happen, but he had no idea how he’d break it to her without hurting her.

 

He didn’t want her to hope, didn’t want her to waste those last precious years of youth waiting for something that was never going to come. He had a good deal of affection for her, he respected and admired her in ways, but the feelings would never become anything more than what they were. Even if she were older and even if he weren’t what he was, it just wasn’t going to happen.

 

He couldn’t love a woman like her, he realised. The idea of a wife was a fine enough thing. The idea of a family of his own, of children was a pleasant one, and it warmed him in indescribable ways. But the reality of it wasn’t the same as the dream. The disaster that he and Ida had been spoke well enough of that. The way that he felt, it just wasn’t the same, it wasn’t what a husband should feel for his wife, and Lauchlan was surprised that the realisation upset him as little as it did.

 

It wasn’t a new revelation. It was an old one, one that had been lurking at the back of his mind for longer than he knew, coalescing at the forefront of his thoughts just as he was ready for it. He’d always known he’d not marry. He’d always blamed it on the Jackdaw, then on his circumstances, then on his own social ineptitude and chronic lack of charisma. Now, at last, his inner compass pointed him towards the truth of the matter.

 

He just didn’t want to be married to a woman.

 

He didn’t want it at _all_. He didn’t want to spend his life with a woman, no matter how pretty or clever, or kind. He didn’t want it back then, and he didn’t want it now. He liked the idea, the idea of children of his own, the idea of companionship and friendship, but he didn’t actually want the reality of it.

 

Ida, god, he should have known when he’d been with Ida, because he hadn’t been in love with Ida nearly as much as he had been in love with _idea_ of being in love, and the two feelings had been so hopelessly tangled that he’d not seen it for what it was until the former faded unnoticed, leaving only the latter behind for him to mourn.

 

Their relationship had always been doomed, because he’d been a half-blind fool and gone rushing into things without actually thinking about the consequences. He was lucky she’d left him, even if he did still regret the circumstances, he’d have made them both miserable if he’d married her. He’d made her miserable regardless, but at least she’d been able to get out unscathed, and not be saddled with him for longer than she had to be.

 

The thing he’d loved about being with Ida had not been Ida at all. It was the act of being in love with her. He’d been lonely, he was _still_ lonely, and he’d wanted to not be alone. He wanted to be worth something, to someone, and Ida had been the first and only one to let him love her. It was such a selfish thing, now he thought on it, but it would not help to dwell on it now.

 

No, Ida was in the past now. Theresa was in the present, and he still hadn’t the foggiest clue what to do about her.

 

Corbin would probably know, he’d ask him the next he saw him. Maybe Corbin would give him a few ideas after he finished laughing his head off at the mess he’d found himself in.

 

Lauchlan smiled to himself at the thought, and began to prepare himself for bed, feeling lighter at the thought of Corbin’s reaction. Corbin did seem to cut right to the quick of these things, he was perceptive that way, and Lauchlan would rather trust him with this sort of issue than tackle it alone. Knowing his luck, Lauchlan would just hurt her unduly, or make a fool of himself.

 

He rubbed a hand across his face, and yawned tiredly. He snuffed the lights and laid down in bed, stretching languidly, and tried to hush his thoughts and settle to sleep.

 

Oddly enough, he was not harried by the days unsavoury discussions or surprising revelations, but instead by that inconsequential comment Corbin had thrown out. Though he knew it was foolish, in the haze of half sleep, he let himself believe that Corbin had meant what he’d said.

 

It made for a very nice dream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, hi people! Still not dead. Nice to hear from you all again etcetera. I honestly can’t tell you why this chapter took me so long, because I honestly don’t understand it either. This one was just hard for no discernible reason, and I wasted so much writing time. Heck, I wanted to get MBWLAYWGS done by February, but that sure as heck hasn’t happened. I did manage to write ahead a bit though, so hopefully I should polish off another soon. Hope you like this one, and thankyou for your kudos and comments, and remember that there is a TVtropes page linked in the summary should you want to read it.


	14. A Storm in a Teacup

Monday arrived like an uninvited guest, impolite and unwelcome but impossible to ignore. He gritted his teeth, steeled his spine, and clambered out of the warmth of his bed to get started with the day, gathering the night’s warm feelings about himself like a fire banked against the winter chill.

 

The weather was dreary and indecisive. The heavy clouds threatened sleet and snow, and the wind whistled promises of a gale, but neither seemed in any hurry to deliver. Lauchlan bundled himself up warmly regardless, and ate a simple breakfast of sweetened porridge and tea.

 

Vagabond had caught a large mouse in the night, or perhaps a small rat, and left its gnawed remains scattered across the floor. No matter its original size, the mess it made was substantial and it took some time to clean away the tufts of bloodied fur and gnawed bones. He gave her two chicken necks for her breakfast and hurried away to work.

 

He arrived a little late thanks to Vagabond’s contribution to the larder, but it did not cost him much. It was a tedious day, routine, though the horses were agitated, and the stable boys weren’t much better as they griped and complained loudly of the oncoming storm, hoping for a reprieve from their duties.

 

Lauchlan rebuffed them for the most part, and shut himself into his office for most of the day to catch up with the bookwork and escape their grumbling.

 

The elements never delivered on their threats, a little blustery wind and a rigorous pattering of sleet the worst they suffered through. The boys seemed even more petulant with the source of their complaints diminished so.

 

The monotony of the day, both busy work and bookwork both, gave Lauchlan plenty of time to think, both on what Corbin had told him, and on what to do about it. Now that most of the shock of it had worn off, and he had finished kicking himself for allowing familiarity to grow into this malformed, thing, he had to admit, he had an idea of what to do.

 

He couldn’t let it go on, of that there was no question. The solution then, seemed obvious. Talk her out of it. Talking was hardly his strong point, of that he was well aware, but, he was at a loss as to how else to approach it. Thus, he had to tell her, gently and carefully, that her affections would be better spent elsewhere. And somehow, do it without implicating either her or himself as the guilty party, or leaving her any hint about his own indiscretions.

 

A simple task, perhaps, for anyone other than Lauchlan. But he had to do it. He couldn’t let this go on, and he could hardly get anyone else to do it in his place. Jasper would laugh in his face, and then probably just proposition her outright, and Corbin would just laugh all the more, and probably think him a blind fool for it, or worse, he’d actually do it, only he’d tell her the reasons why in no uncertain terms and Lauchlan would never be able to look her in the eye again.

 

No, Lauchlan needed to buck up and do this. It was the right thing to do. He just had to remind himself of that.

 

That evening he waited in the scullery for Theresa to arrive. A few rehearsed confessions and explanations rattling round his head and newspaper spread unread on his lap as he waited, anxious to the last.

 

Theresa’s arrived around seven, the door squeaked as she pushed through, her shoulder to the door, her eyes fixed to the heavy tray.

 

He cleared his throat, once she was free of the door, and she startled a little, clearly not expecting him to be there, but recovered admirably, smiling at him and setting the tray down with a flourish.

 

“Ah, Mr Huxley, it’s good to see you,” she said, smiling and curtseying neatly, before dipping her hand into the pocket of her apron. “I do believe you made a mistake with your moneys yesterday, so I took the liberty of making some change for it-”

 

“Actually, I was hoping we could have a word about that, if you have the time?” he interrupted.

 

Theresa paused, her hand halfway out of her pocket, a handful of copper farden between her fingers, her expression caught in surprise, but then quickly collected herself, returning the coinage and straightening her back, her hands loosely held in front of her.

 

“Of course, Mr Huxley, I can stay for a time, I’m not needed back for a while longer,” she said, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly, her grin earnest and hopeful.

 

Lauchlan swallowed guiltily. She was lying, it was just past dinner time, she must have had more than her share of chores waiting for her on her return, least of all the dishes and what not. Damn, how hadn’t he noticed this on his own? It seemed so obvious now.

 

“Could I perhaps interest you in a cup of tea then? This might be a long conversation,” he said sighing a little.

 

Theresa’s face brightened, her smile growing wider.

 

“That would be lovely, thankyou Mr Huxley, it’s most kind of you to offer,” she said, dipping into another curtsey.

 

Lauchlan almost winced, but managed to repress the reaction, instead smiling in return and reached for the kettle. He’d boiled it earlier, as he’d waited, so the tea making took only a few minutes as he brought the water back up to the boil and waited for the pot to steep.

 

She took her tea with a healthy dose of cream and two sugars, preferring it a little weak. He made it as she liked it, and then let it steep a little longer before pouring out his own, adding a little milk before he could forget. They sat down on two of his kitchen stools, along side eachother. By rights he should have invited her into the dining suite, but that seemed inappropriate given his recent revelations.

 

“Thankyou, Mr Huxley,” she said, accepting the china cup and sipping from it delicately.

 

“Theresa, I, you know that I value you’re service, don’t you? Y-you’ve been of great help to me, and I would like, if it’s not too forward, to consider you one of my friends,” he said, stuttering into his prepared speech. He hadn’t the nerve to meet her eyes, so he stared determinedly into his tea.

 

“That, that is, not so forward at all, Mr Huxley. I would, be very honoured, to call you a friend. You shouldn’t have to worry about that being unseemly, you have acted the perfect gentleman,” she said, sweetly. He glanced up at her, and bit his lip for shame, she just looked so _hopeful_.

 

“That, you see, that is what I needed to talk to you about. I, I have been, made aware, no, I have realised that you, may have been selling yourself short,” he stuttered.

 

“I don’t know what you mean, sir, I-”

 

“Theresa, you remember, I used to work in service, like you? I-It was under very different circumstances, granted, but, I, I know how much work, and time, and effort goes into what you do. I, I didn’t want to say anything about it before, I thought you would know best what your time is worth, but, I, think that we, we both know, that, you’re time is worth far more than what, what you want of me,” Lauchlan said, cutting through her protests.

 

Theresa’s smile crumpled, her happiness imploding in on itself, forming something tense and rigid and pained that Lauchlan couldn’t identify. The cup rattled softly in its saucer, and Theresa pulled the half empty cup close to her chest, stilling her hand in the process.

 

“Would, would you like me to leave, sir?”

 

“No! No, no, that’s not, not what I want at all, I just, I just think that, that your time is worth far more that I pay you for, I just, hoped that you would allow me to raise it. I know we’ve discussed this several times already, but, I really, I can’t just sit by and let you undervalue yourself and your work any longer, it’s worth _more_ than that. If you do not want the money, then you a free to put it on the church plate, or in some poor folks alms bowl, just, please, take it, it is of no great consequence to me, and you _deserve_ it,” he implored, his voice tight from emotion, he wasn’t doing this right, but it was done, and he wasn’t sure if he could undo it to do it properly.

 

“Oh, I, well, if, if you insist then, I suppose I have no choice in the matter,” Theresa laughed lightly, her expression brightening again, “I confess, I, I thought you meant something different,” she said, the hopeful, tender smile had returned to her lips, and Lauchlan swallowed down a lump of shame.

 

Oh, yes, that. What the hell could he say about _that_? He hadn’t though this through enough damn it all, all his practiced words were fleeing his head en mass, leaving him with naught but his swiftly building dread.

 

“Theresa, you, I am happy to count you a friend, do, do you understand?” he implored, just shy of begging.

 

“Yes, I am very pleased you think so,” she said, a blush on her cheeks, and her grin cracked even wider. Damn it, wrong thing to say.

 

“No, no I, you see. I, I, am not, a terribly sociable person. And, and while I can certainly appreciate the company, of others, I, I am not one to, I am not one to, you see I, I’m not, I’m sorry I’m making a muddle of this,” he sighed, embarrassment squirming in his guts, tightening his throat.

 

“It’s alright, Mr Huxley, I understand,” she said, and reached out for him. He flinched away from her. He had to snip this in the bud, now, before he hurt her even more.

 

“No, I don’t think you do. Theresa, I am not, I do not think, that, I am the sort to ever settle as others do. I am, content, as I am now, and do not intend to change. You, your time, your caring is precious, and, and it pains me to see it wasted. I know, I’m probably to blame for that but, I just, thought you ought to be told,” he said, his voice a little choked and tight.

 

Theresa, she did not recoil, as before, but she did seem to shrink, her blush cooling till her whole face had gone a little pale, and her purposeful grip on the teacup slackened so much that she turned and carefully set it down on the countertop. She stared into the contents of it, her eyes bright.

 

“I, see,” she said, the words choking as they came. He doubted she did, but, there it was.

 

Shame burned in his throat, he, he had never wanted to hurt her, never wanted her to sound like that, but, well. This was for the best, wasn’t it? What else could he do? He didn’t know, but already, he regretted it. He didn’t want to see her like this. Meekly, he reached into his pocket, and fished for a tuppence from his coin purse. It seemed such a lame offering, such a pathetic recompense. He ought to comfort her, but, he wasn’t sure how, wasn’t sure that anything he could do or say at this point wouldn’t just make it even worse.

 

He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed there, and meekly pushed the tuppence into her hand.

 

“If this isn’t enough, please say so. I, you deserve better, please don’t tell yourself otherwise,” he said.

 

Theresa stared at the coin for a moment, looking a little lost. She stiffened then, clenching the coin in her fist, her back straightening, hurt shielded behind resolve.

 

“Well, thankyou, for, your consideration. I suppose, I should be grateful,” she said, as if trying to convince herself, as much as convince him. Lauchlan knew that feeling well enough.

 

“Thankyou Theresa, for understanding, and, for your help. I’ll always appreciate it,” he said softly.

 

Theresa wavered then, but nodded, her lip stiff, her hands clenched, and she saw herself out, in just a little too much of a hurry.

 

Lauchlan sighed deeply, and slumped backward, leaning on the counter for support. He drained the last of his cooling tea in a few deep swallows, but found no comfort in the act.

 

Had he even done the right thing? Had he said the right thing? The memory of their conversation was playing out over and over in his mind, jangling round his head, and each time he thought of it, it sounded worse and worse. He should have waited, should have got Corbin to weigh in on it, ask him what to say. He knew better than him in these matters, god knew that was hardly difficult though.

 

It was too late, now, he had little choice but to wait and hope he hadn’t irreparably damaged their friendship. He did not have so many friends that they could be easily replaced. They were too precious to just cast aside, no matter how deep the cracks ran. She was irreplaceable. He’d make it up to her, somehow.

 

He lifted the cloche from the dinner tray, and immediately the little scullery was filled with the scent of rich, creamy oxtail soup, garnished with thyme and pungent garlic. He sighed deeply, bittersweet nostalgia panging at his heart. His mother used to cook soup like this, it was one of his favourites. He’d mentioned it before, once, of that he was sure, and Theresa must have remembered. Oh, damn, of all the days to have this conversation, he had to have it the same day she’d gone out of her way to do something so nice for him.

 

Now he felt like a right arse.

 

He ate it, of course. He had no appetite but he couldn’t bear to waste it after Theresa had put so much effort into it. He knew garlic was hard to find this time of year, not to mention _expensive_. It made him melancholy, but the warmth in his belly soothed his nerves a little, all the same.

 

He hoped, he hoped she didn’t think any less of him now. Perhaps that was too much to expect, but he hoped all the same. But, if she did, this, this was not a bad memory, to hold close. She had cared, and she had listened and remembered when he had told her about himself, and she had gone to all this effort just to do something nice that would remind him of home. Even if their friendship didn’t survive intact, he would think of this, and remember.

 

It was maudlin, he knew, but he was in that sort of mood now, and he thought that he might as well embrace it.

 

He wrote another letter to Claire, before bed, telling her of his revelations, excluding Corbin’s involvement, and his, less than stellar response to the situation. He hoped that she might find his predicament educational if nothing else, but for the most part, the letter was more for his own benefit. It was cleansing, to put his feelings to words. He should have written to her in the first place, he would have had to wait a fortnight or so, for her reply, but she was far more insightful than he would ever be, and she was just a few years older than Theresa. She’d probably have a far better idea of what was going through her head than anyone else he could have asked. But it was too late now, so he merely spilled his woes and his inadequacies onto the page for her to scoff at, and stamped it, ready for the post.

 

The next day past by uneventfully. He made his breakfast, fed Vagabond, posted his letter, returned to work, and on life went. He didn’t see Theresa on Tuesday. She came and left his dinner tray before he had returned home from work, but it was still hot, so it must’ve been a near thing. It was a far simpler meal, but a nice one, roasted root vegetables and mutton shoulder with a little dish of mint jelly for garnish. It gave him a little hope, at least, that she hadn’t completely cut him off. That, or she valued the money enough to put aside her feelings toward him. He could work with either, honestly.

 

The week went on, and though Theresa remained unwilling to make her deliveries to him in person, the meals were always waiting for him when he got home, just as caringly made as they always had been, and still pleasantly hot. She did not try to return his money to him, and when he left her notes, thanking her for the meal, they too went, so he considered that a good sign.

 

Friday brought a chill wind with it, and a steady rain of sleet. The day, thankfully, brought no other unpleasant surprises, for which he was thankful. Still he was glad for the day to end, and for Saturday to come, bringing those extra hours of sleep with it. He peeled himself out of his damp winter layering eagerly and lit the fires, eager to warm the house, and eagerly tucked into dinner. He ate, cleaned the dishes, and left a tuppence on the plate along with a small note of thanks.

 

With the dishes cleaned and cleared away, he drew himself a bath. He sank gratefully into the water, the warmth embracing him as he sank up to his neck. He took a minute to just soak it up the heat of it, listening to the water as it lapped against the sides of the bathtub.

 

He dozed for a little bit, enjoying the tranquillity while it lasted, before picking up soap, washcloth and brush and getting to the business of washing. It had been a long day, but one mostly consumed by stewarding work rather than labour, so it was not as time consuming a task as usual. He scrubbed his hands and feet with the carbolic soap, and ran the rest of himself over with the lye. The lingering smell of horse leavings was quickly overridden by the strong, tarlike scent of the soap. He breathed it in deeply, and sank back into the water with a contented groan.

 

He had always loved the smell of carbolic soap. They used it for just about everything back when he had worked at the estate, from the dishes, to the floors, to the curtains and the linens. On washdays he would often help the laundry maids by carting hot water back and forth and churning the dolly tubs while they rested. They’d mostly use borax for the wash, but carbolic soap had always been better when it came to getting greasy stains out of tablecloths, serviettes and other such things, so they’d be spot cleaned with the carbolic. The house linens had to be washed a second time in perfumes, as the masters hated the smell of both the borax and the carbolic, and wanted them nowhere near their dinner table. He and his fellow staff were not so fussy though, his own bed linens and clothing had always been cleaned in such a fashion. Sinking into a freshly laundered bed, the linens still warm and crisp from the mangle and the carbolic perfume still lingering on the sheets had always been a greatly anticipated treat.

 

He shut his eye and sunk further into the soap clouded bathwater, folding his hands across his chest and sighed contentedly, intent on enjoying his soak for a while yet.

 

His mind wandered, and he idly wondered if Corbin would pay him a visit the coming Sunday. It’d be nice to see him again, and play a few more games of backgammon, or even cribbage if he made good on his threat. He wondered if he should’ve bought more sweets, he still had a few soft toffees and peppermint humbugs, but Corbin seemed to enjoy sweets a little more exotic than that. Perhaps some Turkish delight, or some more sugared ginger. He’d have to visit the boutique again, and make sure to draw the shutters this time around, or at least steer them into the dining room where they were less likely to be observed.

 

He scratched his hand across his chest, and shook his head, admonishing himself for thinking such a thing. The whole point of backgammon was to avert suspicion, and if they weren’t doing it where they could be seen then the point was completely moot. He missed the solitude they’d been granted by the snowstorm, the freedom to talk about what it was between them, to touch and to shout and to take him into his arms, unbidden, and wake in his embrace. He licked his lips, finding them suddenly dry, and remembered the taste of ginger as its fire raced across his tongue, the sweet, sweet taste of sugar and milk, a strong pair of hands holding him close, and a warm chest heaving above his own, muscled and strong.

 

He felt his face heat, and raised a hand to his mouth, rubbing gently at his bottom lip. He shuddered, and bit into the knuckle of his pointer, trying to distract himself from the sudden rush of lust that has him in its throes.

 

It was irrational, and completely unprompted, but Lauchlan remembered how he had so longed to kiss him again, hold him again, and felt heat flush through him. He didn’t know why on earth he was thinking such thoughts now, he didn’t have the right to take such liberties with Corbin, he’d made that perfectly clear when he’d taken him home. But he still longed to, as much now as he did then.

 

It was foolish, Corbin wasn’t even here for goodness sake, he didn’t know if he would be here on Sunday, or even the Sunday after that, but that did not quell the desire that bubbled up in his chest.

 

He hoped Corbin would kiss him like that again when the final debt was called due. It would be so good to do that again with a soft bed beneath them, and without a herd of hungry charges to worry about in the morning.

 

It had been a while since he’d thought about the debt. It wasn’t as intimidating as it used to be, in fact it wasn’t intimidating at all. He wanted to hold him again, kiss him again, and, well, then there was the debt itself to be dealt with. He still had no idea how he would tackle the crux of the whole affair but he was sure Corbin wouldn’t mind giving him some instruction on that front. He’d been so very considerate of him the last time and if it was anything like he’d remembered Corbin would have every incentive to be patient with him.

 

He rubbed at his chin contemplatively. His own memories of the matter were very disjointed and insubstantial. He still had little idea of how he had found himself in the position but he remembered the _heat_ of it, remembered how being enveloped by that gentle, glorious heat had unravelled him, completely and utterly. He remembered the scratch of Corbin’s stubble against his thighs as he was lavished upon by that heat, engulfed to the root of him and held under for a length of time he had been far too addled to distinguish, drowning in the sheer sensation of it till it filled him up and made him one with it.

 

His manhood began to stir in interest beneath the water, and he groaned and shifted about a bit. The warm water slopped around as he tried to distract himself, but it was a futile effort. The thoughts were in his head, and though he tried to dislodge them they would not leave him be. Memories lapped at his consciousness, memories of that night, drunk and fumbling, and again, in the hayloft. There had been a gleam in Corbin’s eye then, hungry and impish, and Lauchlan could remember how his tongue had felt upon him, within him, as clearly as he could when Corbin had been bent between his legs.

 

Lauchlan swallowed dryly, and bit firmly into the inside of his cheek as he stared down his traitorous erection. It throbbed like a sore tooth, begging for his attention. The warmth of the bathwater surrounding him was strangely arousing, and it made him keenly aware of the way that the water sloshed about as he shifted, the eddies tugging at it ever so slightly. He hissed frustratedly between his teeth, and glanced around the room, determined to look anywhere but beneath the bathwater.

 

The thoughts of Corbin, his eyes, his hands, his tongue, his mouth jangled round his head in spite, and his manhood throbbed needily regardless of how he felt about it. Lauchlan considered just getting up and letting the shock of the cold finish it off, but he was loath to leave the comfort of his bath before he was good and done with it, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do if that didn’t get it down.

 

Lauchlan wet his lips and shifted himself straightening his legs as much as the short bathtub would allow and lifting himself head and shoulders above the water, breathing deeply in a bid to calm down. The air wasn’t as hot as it had been, but it was not properly cold either, and the steam made it pleasantly thick and scented of soaps.

 

He couldn’t go on like this all night, the water would cool eventually, and Lauchlan had no interest in catching pneumonia in a bid to outlast part of his own body, no matter how strong willed that part may be. He’d not had to deal with that particular brand of discomfort in years. He’d spent his formative years without a lick of privacy, sharing a bed with his mother for several years, for lack of any better option, and the servant’s quarters had them tucked in two to a room at the least and later still he’d shared with little Claire. After he’d escaped the spike he’d rented a room in an old end-of-terrace on the Coalford side of the river, close to it, but thankfully not within the district itself. He’d only had two small rooms, one large enough for a bed and a wardrobe, the other just big enough for a chair and table, a fireplace and some cooking apparatus. There had been a family of five living in an apartment that shared a wall with his bedroom, and a group of young factory workers living to the other side of the sitting room. The walls were so riddled with woodworm, mouse holes and damp that he feared should someone try to peel off the wallpaper most of the wall would come away with it.

 

If a floorboard so much as creaked in the workers flat the family would start banging on their wall in a bid to silence them, which led to the workers banging on their wall to silence the family, which would start the baby off crying and set the rest of the family banging and shouting in retaliation and on ad nauseam it went. He’d endured his share of sleepless nights in that house, both in the crossfire of his feuding neighbours, or because his body had taken it upon itself to remind him that all was in good, working order and then wouldn’t let him sleep until he dealt with the issue. It took all his willpower to ignore it, he was a bit, sensitive in that regard, and heaven forbid he wake the baby or draw the attention of the workers. God knew that he’d never find any peace again, and if they had even the slightest suspicion he was touching himself or anything of that ilk the both of them would surely run him out with the saucepans and brooms that they were so fond of beating against his walls, and treat his skull to the same.

 

He gazed down at it resolutely, trying to summon some of that conviction again. It wasn’t nearly as easy as it had been. The walls were good and solid here, and the Shiers, while fond of gossip, weren’t nearly as obtrusive or loud, and Theresa seldom ever came up to the second floor, not without invitation at the least. Lauchlan sighed, ready to drag himself out of the bath and seek the aid of a basin of cold water, but then stopped, considering, and after a moment comprehension dawned and he groaned, putting his head in his hands and cursing himself.

 

For someone who supposedly _wasn’t_ an idiot, he was doing a fine job of acting just like one.

 

He sank back into the water, letting his muscles relax as he hid his beet red face between his hands. There was no reason for fretting or discomfort. He was in his own damn house for goodness sake, where there was no one to hear him, no one to find him, just him and the warmth of the water, and the heady desire that still throbbed enticingly between his legs, despite all his unpleasant thoughts.

 

Lauchlan swallowed, and wet his lips as he looked down at his erection. He really had no reason to deny himself. Whether it was sinful or not did not bother him overmuch, he’d committed sodomy already for heavens sake, and he wasn’t the slightest bit sorry for that.

 

He covered his mouth in an instinctive bid to quiet himself, and gently took himself in hand. It had been a very long time since he’d allowed himself this, and for a moment he just wrapped his hand around himself and enjoyed the sensation of being held. The moment passed quickly, as his arousal begged for more than he could currently offer it. He clenched his hand gently, and then let it relax, gently fondling himself till he found a grip that felt _just_ so.

 

His breath hitched, and he again bit into his knuckle to stifle the noise. He shifted in the bath, his toes curling and breath quickening as he made himself comfortable, his manhood never straying from his hand as he stroked at it.

 

His grip was firm, just shy of being too tight, and his strokes long and deliberately slow. He groaned into his hand as he slowly teased himself, his willpower straining as he drew out his pleasure in spite of the burning desire to hurry to the end. He shut his eye, and images of that drunken night filled his vision, Corbin on his knees, nestled between his legs, lavishing pleasure on his manhood with that acid tongue of his. His breath stuttered as he latched onto the image, his grip clenching too tight for a moment before he could take back control. He imagined a willing mouth in place of his own calloused hand, engulfing him, undoing him, and shuddered in pleasure. He changed his grip, letting his thumb swipe over the head of his cock, tugging back his foreskin and teasing the tender flesh beneath it with the pad of his thumb, remembering how Corbin had kissed at him there and groaning at the memory.

 

It seemed so easy, really, he’d just, lapped at it with his tongue, given him a little kiss, a little fondle and he’d been putty in Corbin’s hands. Could it really be so simple? It seemed too easy, but perhaps it was meant to be so. As he wondered he realised with a start that he had never touched Corbin before, at least not like that. Corbin had touched him, lavished attention on him with his hands, his tongue his body, but Lauchlan had never dared to reach below his waist. He’d seen it before, of course, swollen and throbbing with arousal, hard and demanding against him, _within_ him, but he’d never thought to take it in hand, to try and return the pleasure Corbin had so tenderly lavished upon him. He wondered what it would be like, taking him in hand, wondered if he’d come undone like he had, and _oh_ was that a lovely thought. To hold him, touch him, make him pant and writhe like Lauchlan did, to hear his voice tremble as he came down from his peak.

 

Lauchlan felt his breath hitch, and he bit into his knuckle yet harder to keep his voice down, and his grip tightened around his cock as his pleasurable stroking was suddenly not enough at all. His back arched, his shoulders braced against the head of the bath as his hips rolled, his grip tight and sure as he worked himself over, more quickly now, but he let his thumb play over the head of his cock, teasing at his foreskin as he bucked into his hand.

 

He imagined Corbin’s body beneath his hands, he was not pretty or feminine or the slightest bit soft, but he wanted to know how he felt, hot and aroused in his hand, wanted to know how to undo him, wanted to _hear him_ as he came apart and know it was him that put the tremble there. He wanted to know, wanted to touch, and in that moment he wanted nothing more that to call the debt due and find all the ways he could make him fall apart, and keep at it and do it all over again. Wanted to know the taste of it, feel the strength of him beneath his hands, hear his voice hot and breathy in his ear as it had been all those weeks ago.

 

He let the fantasy wash over him, revelling in the pleasure of it as his arousal thrummed through him, a relentless battering _pressure_ , until at last he reached his tipping point. He arched up, peaking with a muffled cry, the water sloshing over the rim of the bathtub as his legs tensed and his back bowed upwards, his release splattering against his chest as he gave himself a few last, juddering strokes. He held the position a moment, his eye rolling back as the pleasure of orgasm washed over him, and then went slack and sank bonelessly into the warmth of the water, trembling all over.

 

He stayed that way for a while, coasting on the last waves of ecstasy as they ebbed through him, his panting breaths the only sound in the quiet. After a time he returned to true awareness, albeit rather groggily, went about cleaning himself afresh, and then clambered out of the bathtub.

 

He felt strangely loose limbed and lethargic, but not truly tired. It was an odd sensation, but not unpleasant, and he prepared himself for bed suspended in that hazy state.

 

He snuffed out the lights and laid down atop the covers of his bed as he tried to string his thoughts back into some sort of order.

 

He had never been quite so affected by his own hand before. He was conscious enough to realize that, and there was little question as to why. The fantasy, if it could rightly be called that, had to be the most visceral he’d ever conjured. Not even his night with Ida was quite comparable and that at least had been _real_. Something about imagining Corbin that way, doing those things to him was so incredibly arousing, he wasn’t certain how to put the thoughts to words.

 

He still wanted those things, even now his arousal was appeased and his thoughts firmly tethered to the realm of reality, he wanted to do that for Corbin. Corbin deserved it, and Lauchlan was starting to realize just how much he wanted to do it. It wasn’t a matter of debt anymore, he just wanted to.

 

It was a confusing feeling, he still had no real idea of how to go about it beyond the most basic principles of the act, but that alone was rather enticing, if he was being completely honest with himself. He could only imagine what Corbin would think of it, but the idea of doing that to Corbin, of treating him with the same reverence and attention that he had been treated to thrice over now was so very arousing. But it was more than that, it just felt like the right thing to do. Corbin had been good to him, both as a friend and as a lover, and he deserved to be treated in kind. It wouldn’t make up for what Lauchlan had done to him, to what the other man, the Old Bugger had done to him, but he deserved it all the same.

 

Lauchlan would be lying to himself if he claimed not to lust for Corbin too, and perhaps a little more than that besides. He didn’t fall prey to lust very often, and barring Corbin and Ida, Lauchlan couldn’t really think of any occasion he had to feel so. He did enjoy Corbin’s company regardless, and though he wished he’d be a little more tactful he enjoyed spending time with him, either speaking, playing backgammon, or other things he wouldn’t speak of in polite company.

 

Even so, what he’d had with Ida was, different, not greater or lesser, but different all the same. It was less intense, more regimented, as there were rules of etiquette that he knew to follow, codes of conduct he could look to, paths of proper courtship to walk along, at least until Ida had decided to leap straight to the end. With Corbin there was nothing to look to, and for that, it was infinitely more confusing, and yet equally as exciting if not more so.

 

He hadn’t felt like this with Ida, he hadn’t felt like this with anyone. He wanted Corbin desperately, wanted to hold him, make love to him, talk to him, wile away his Sundays over backgammon and tooth-rotting sweets, he was in too deep to deny that now. It was a confusing muddle of emotions, but they beat strong within him, and for now he was content to revel blindly in their throes.

 

There was no point in worrying about it. He wasn’t entirely convinced if it was something worth worrying about at all. Normally that would be a worry in and of itself, but Lauchlan felt so pleasantly wrung out that he couldn’t summon up the will to fuss about it. So he tucked himself into bed, the warmth of the emotional muddle thrumming through his soul, and sank into the squall of them all as he fell into the most restful sleep he’d had all week.

 

A true squall set in over the course of the night, the wind whistling and windows rattling, snow flurrying down. Lauchlan slept through it all obliviously, and by the morning hours when he woke, it had mostly snowed itself out, leaving a crisp three-inch layer of snowfall on the ground, sparkling and bright in the lamplight. Lauchlan fixed himself a pot of tea and a bowl of porridge with walnuts for his breakfast, fed Vagabond some chicken feet and sheeps liver, and set out to work with a spring in his step. The air was crisp but not too bitey, the snow was just thick enough to make that satisfying crunching sound with each step he took, but not deep enough to get into his boots. It was a beautiful morning, and Lauchlan could only hope the day would carry on as it had begun.

 

To his relief, it did, or at least, it didn’t get any worse, which given his run of luck this winter, was as good as he could have hoped for. The boys were surly, but did their work all the same, and the cabbies turned over a good deal of business, thanks in part to the snow and ice on the roads. No horses were hobbled, no stable hands were injured, no axels were dropped. It really was a wonderful day, the best he’d had in weeks. His mind made up, he took a brief leave off work during his lunch hour, and bought a half pound of Turkish Delight from the confectionery boutique on the corner, a mix of lemon and rosewater, and another jar of sugared ginger. It cost him a pretty penny, but it ought to keep well, and he was already looking forward to it. He hadn’t had Turkish Delight in years, since he’d been a little boy, in fact. It was an expensive treat, but the masters sometimes had it bought for their own children, and his mother, or even Theodore would smuggle him a piece from time to time, secreted away in a handkerchief, or tucked in between a folded pair of eating gloves. The master’s would have had their hide if they knew, but no one ever seemed to notice. He wondered if Corbin ever had the opportunity, it was doubtful given the cost of it. It had been more expensive when he’d been a boy than it was now, but Lauchlan wouldn’t put it past him. He’d learned his lesson in that regard, at least.

 

He remained cheery from noon till evening, and though some gave him a few odd looks for his good mood, no one commented on it until he was shutting up the stables for the night. Jasper had loitered behind, even as the horses were put to rest, and the lights doused.

 

“Did you want something, Jasper?” he asked, side eyeing him curiously.

 

He was leaning against the main gate, making it impossible to lock it without first shifting him.

 

“Yes, actually, I was hoping we could have a little chat,” he said, and still did not move.

 

“Well, chat away then,” he said, crossing his arms, his ring of keys dangling from his fingers, his sweets wrapped in brown paper and tucked in the crook of his arm.

 

Jasper straightened, and took a step back, allowing him at last to get at the door.

 

“You’ve been acting a little odd recently, people have been talking,” he said, without preamble.

 

Lauchlan started a little at that, but tried to maintain a veneer of calm. It had been a stressful last few weeks, and he thought he had more than enough reason to behave strangely. Besides, people hadn’t thought anything of it when he had been stressed out of his mind with worry in the weeks that followed that disastrous stag night, or if they did, Jasper hadn’t said as such.

 

“And what exactly have people been talking about?” he asked, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

 

“They’ve been saying you’re looking to get shacked up, with a lady someplace.”

 

“Good lord Jasper, really? Wh-Who on earth would I be courting?” he said, forcing a little levity into his tone.

 

“That’s what people are talking about. People are saying all sorts of things, but I swear, every lady from here to the Coalford Crossing has come up, even the old widow that runs the apothecary up the road.”

 

“You cannot be serious, Jasper. That woman is older than my Mother!” he exclaimed, barely resisting the urge to gag.

 

“Really? She must’ve pushed you out early on then.”

 

“Jasper! That’s a disgusting thing to say!” He did gag then, though he tried to smother the sound.

 

“Sorry mate, but I don’t think your mother may be the best measure here, all things being said.”

 

“And I’m saying that it’s disgusting and we are not going to discuss it! Honestly Jasper, why is this such a polava? Why should anyone care if I’m seeing a lady or not? You’ve probably seen every lady who’d look twice at you, and you don’t see me flapping my tongue about it,” he said, planting his hands defensively on his hips.

 

“That was a low blow, mate,” Jasper said, wincing and rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“Why? It never seemed to bother you before.”

 

“That’s not the point. Look, mate, people are talking. Are you stepping out with someone or aren’t you?”

 

“Why does it matter if I am or not? You’ve never cared about my personal life before, why the sudden interest?”

 

“You’re evading the question,” Jasper accused, his arms crossed over his chest.

 

“Well, yes, I am, because I still fail to see how any of this matters?”

 

Jasper groaned and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead.

 

“Because if you are, then it means that the things round here are going to be shaken up. You’ll be spending more time at home with you’re wife, you’ll have kids, those kids will probably end up working here and push out anyone else who might’ve got your job, and you might even move up the chain to overseer, or working for the higher ups direct like. That’s what people are talking about,” he said.

 

Work, of course they would only be concerned about work. Why should any of them be concerned with his personal life? Corbin had told them they wouldn’t. He should’ve known he’d be right by now.

 

“Oh, well, no. I’m not courting anyone. Nobody has to worry about any of that. Do I need to make an announcement you think? Send out a bulletin? No threats are currently present to the position of apprentice, or something like that?” The lie came surprising easily. It helped that it was a little true, perhaps more truth than lie. Whatever it was that he and Corbin were doing, courting wasn’t it. It was something else entirely.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I think I would notice if I was courting someone, it tends to require the participation of both parties after all,” he said, laughing in relief.

 

“Then who are the sweets for then? It’s not like you to go shoppin’ on company time and all that. Must be for someone special,” he said, pointing to the bundle.

 

Lauchlan swallowed down a lump of dread, but Corbin’s words and assurances came rushing to his tongue as if Corbin himself had summoned them.

 

“Me, if you must know. I’m having a friend around for backgammon. I don’t like betting with currency, it’s a terrible habit. So we use sweets instead. It’s more amusing to have some form of stakes,” he said, shrugging and forcing a smile, though he feared he had spoken a little too quickly to sound entirely natural.

 

“Oh, well, why wasn’t I invited if you were having a games night?”

 

“It’s a two player game, Jasper, what would you do, spectate? Referee?”

 

Jasper huffed, his brow creasing.

 

“Well, I’d appreciate knowing what the bloody hell is going on.”

 

“What’s going on, is that I am going to enjoy a game of backgammon with my friend, and eat the sweets that I bought for myself, an act that concerns none of you, what so ever, and yet you seem to be in fuss, for reasons I don’t understand.”

 

“I’m not, well, maybe I am. Sorry mate. Just, you’re sure aren’t you? We all remember what happened last time,” he drawled, nodding his head and tucking his thumbs in his pockets, his expression caught someplace between smug and worry.

 

Lauchlan felt his expression sour, and Jasper looked away.

 

“Yeah of course you do. Well, look I’ve said my piece, so on your head be it,” he said, and with that he turned his back on him and shuffled off with his hands in his pockets.

 

Lauchlan stared after him, unsure of exactly what had happened. Jasper’s behaviour had been strange, to say the least. Lauchlan, well, he thought to have counted Jasper as his friend. Not a close friend by any means, but a friend all the same. Jasper had always gone out of his way to be kind to him, greeting him cheerily in the mornings. He had never been particularly interested in what he’d done on his own personal time before, at least, never outside of work functions. How very strange. Perhaps he’d ask Corbin about it.

 

He walked his way home, his good mood well and truly soured, and tidied away his sweets in the pantry. Theresa hadn’t been by yet, which was a relief, or at least he hoped it was. If he was lucky he might be able to see how she was, ask after her, if she was willing. Vagabond wrapped herself around his ankles, making hopeful chirring sounds, begging for a feed well before dinner time. He sighed, and bent down to scratch her behind her ears.

 

“Every time I think I understand people, everyone goes and changes again,” he muttered. Vagabond purred silently, head butting his palms, and he scratched her harder, stroking down her neck and up her arched back to her haunches.

 

“Well, at least you never change. You’ll love me so long as I give you your pilchards,” her ears shot up at the sound of the magic word, and she yowled demandingly, putting her paws up on his knee. He laughed, and gave her a last, good scratch behind her ears before he stood up, and went back to the pantry.

 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he laughed, and gave her her treat.

 

He busied himself with housework for most of his evening, hoping to catch Theresa as she delivered his dinner, and all the while, Jaspers reaction niggled at his mind.

 

He wouldn’t pretend to understand what Jasper had meant. He had no hope of unpicking that mess on his own, not while it was still so new and remained without clause or context, but what he had said, to him, the bit about courtship.

 

He had said it as a lie. Meant it as a lie. But the more he had time to think about it, the more truth he found in it. What he and Corbin had, certainly, there were no sweet tokens or secret messages hidden in flowers and other little presents, like there had been in he and Ida’s whirlwind courtship. But at the heart of it, it was, something. He didn’t know what they had, but it was certainly something. The backgammon, the sweets, the way Corbin had gone out of his way, so far out of his way, just to be there for him. To comfort him when he had fallen apart, to keep him company, to soothe him and his silly, overwrought paranoia.

 

It was something. Something you didn’t do for someone you didn’t care about. Oh certainly, he had never questioned Corbin’s ability to care, just, he had just never considered that he would, not about him, not in any depth at least. But there was caring and there was _caring,_ devotion, love, whatever he cared to call it. And this something that they had, it felt like the latter.

 

Courtship, courtship was definitely out of the question, but, love? Maybe. He didn’t know anymore.

 

He had thought he’d loved Ida, but he hadn’t, not really. He loved his Mother, his Step-Father, and Claire, with all his heart and soul, but that was hardly the same, hardly comparable. But this something, whatever it was, it was gentle, and hopeful, and often lusting, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to end. Maybe, maybe it could be more than that. He didn’t know.

 

He knew he was rambling. Knew he was likely fabricating something from nothing, but, the thought had planted itself deep in his heart now, and there was no digging it out. Maybe, maybe it was nothing, and maybe it wasn’t, either way though, he was stuck with it now, and that silent mantra of maybe, maybe, maybe, was circling round and round his head.

 

Maybe, Corbin cared, cared more than he understood. Maybe this was about more than debt. Maybe all this fuss was for nothing, but maybe, maybe this was how it was really supposed to feel.

 

He didn’t _know_.

 

That was the worst part. He just, didn’t know. He’d made a fool of himself once already, in the disaster of him and Ida, and heavens knew Corbin must have seen him for the fool he was ages ago now. He was too much of a fool to know, to even tell if this was the real thing, or something else. But he wanted it to be.

 

 

Lord help him. He wanted it.

 

 

He just hoped that was enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, finally, I've finished this bloody chapter! This chapter, oh lord I can not tell you how hard it was to write this fucking chapter. Urg! I hate Jasper so much after this! Honestly, you can blame him for this bloody chapter taking so bloody long to write. Jasper, isn’t really important to much of anything. In the original draft he had a much bigger role, but the plot line he was originally tied up in got cut out and reworked, along with Ida and Theodores parts, only his left him at loose end with nothing much to do. Really, this chapter, and his introduction were the only scenes of his left. So, I’ll cut him out since he’s not important, I thought. But then no! Because I wrote and rewrote this bloody chapter six bloody times, and that scene will not go without Jasper there to push it along, and if that scene doesn’t go then the whole bloody chapter doesn’t go and if the chapter doesn’t go the story doesn’t go. It’s too late to reintegrate him into the earlier chapters, and there’s no reason to intergrate him into the later chapters because he has nothing to do. I know it sucks and it’s lazy, but goddamn it it’s almost been a bloody year now and I am so ready to move on. Seriously, I know this sounds like an excuse, but I have had drafts of literally every other chapter done since 2014 (drafts mind you, not finished chapters) and this bloody chapter just decided to be a dick and not go. This has to be the most frustrating thing I have ever written, or not written, as it were.
> 
> I tried. That’s honestly all I can say right now.
> 
> Sad thing is, this isn’t even chapter fourteen. I mean it is, but it’s not all of chapter fourteen. Corbin was actually meant to be in this, LAuchlans revelaion was meant to be in focus, rather than the conversation with Theresa, but I had to tie that lose end somehow, and then it went on much longer than I originally allowed for, and demanded much more focus. Then I got it in my head to add in that scene with Lauchlan in the bath and then chapter needed to be cut otherwise it would be about 16000/18000 words long which is just too bloody long, and this was the best place to cut it I could find. You’d think I would be used to this by now, but nope, its a fun filled surprise every time.
> 
> After all that, I’m still very unhappy with his talk with Theresa, which is the focus point of the chapter, so this whole chapter kind of sucks from start to finish, though the bath scene turned out kind of nice at least, even if the transition is kinda terrible. It was hard because, Lauchlan is trying to tell her that he’s never gonna get married, that she should look elsewhere because its never gonna happen, but the way it comes out makes it sound kind of like he’s confessing his sexuality to her. While he might be implying that subconsciously, I couldn’t make that come out overtly, because that could get him in serious trouble, could even get him killed, and that’s not the sort of story I ever wanted to write about. But the bugger keeps saying things like that anyway. He’s not an articulate character, he babbles and he rambles and he stutters and he says the wrong thing. So it was really hard to get the conversation to go where it needed to go without breaking his character. I still don’t think I got it right, I might come back to it later and fix it, but for now, I’m just so done with this bloody chapter.


	15. In for a Penny, In for a Pound

Lauchlan found it difficult to settle that night. The atmosphere felt thick and heavy with anticipation, though of what he could not rightly say. Corbin had made him no promises, given no indication that he would visit again so soon, but, Lauchlan laid awake in bed for the better part of an hour, fantasizing that he would, and then, well, just about nothing in particular. He thought of just, seeing him again, enjoying a nice game of backgammon and talking about his many social blunders again. He was actually laying awake in his bed thinking about the same mundane things that had and probably would continue to happen to him. He didn’t even know why, he was tired, he needed his sleep, and if he slept then tomorrow would come all the quicker and he would not have to wonder but instead _know_ , but he laid awake thinking about it all the same.

 

His revelation, his, indecipherable, unnameable _feeling,_ had changed nothing, it was not like it was new, he had been feeling the way he had for quite a while now, he’d only just noticed it was all, and yet, it changed everything. He wasn’t sure what to _do_ with it, and so he laid awake turning it over and over and over in his head, worrying at it like a badly knotted lace, tugging it, prodding it, and turning it round and round in a bid to get it loose, but only managing to tighten it in the attempt.

 

He wanted, well, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. He was happy with the way things were, happy to see Corbin on Sundays and play their backgammon and let Corbin goad him on, share their sweets and say goodbye again. He didn’t want that to change, but, he did want change. He wasn’t sure what change it was he wanted, exactly, but, he wanted, something. He wanted Corbin, physically, that much he’d known for a while now, but, the revelation, made that a bit more complicated. His indulgence was still fresh in his mind, and in this new light, it was a little more significant. It wasn’t just about pleasure anymore, it wasn’t about debt, or about guilt or obligation. It hadn’t been for a long time. It was about, well, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to admit it in so many words, not even in the privacy of his own mind.

 

He did sleep, eventually, that feeling of anticipation thrumming through his heart and head both, and managed not to wake up too early in the morning, as he feared he might. He found himself dressing up far more nicely than he ought to, far more nicely than a quiet day at home warranted. Which come to think of it was, foolish. It looked to be a fine day the air was crisp, and the sky clear and blue. He could go out, do some shopping, go to the park and enjoy the fresh air and the rare sunshine, but, he wanted just to stay at home, and wait, and hope for Corbin to come again.

 

It was a little foolish, but, Corbin had come most Sundays since he had been invited to, it wasn’t too outrageous a hope. And, it was not as if he needed anything from the shops, not urgently.

 

He pointedly changed from his best clothes to older, more comfortable house clothing. If he was going to wait at home, he would not be idle, and there was no point in getting his nicest things dirty. Corbin had never expressed any interest in his dress anyway, he doubted he would mind it. Not after everything they’d been through.

 

He made himself a full spread for breakfast, liver, mushrooms, eggs, and toast, sloshed liberally with Worcestershire, and enjoyed it at his much neglected dining table. Vagabond got her own spread of chicken livers and a smoked kipper, which she inhaled, and then promptly fell asleep on her rug in front of the fire to get to work digesting it all. He tried to keep himself busy by doing housework. It’d been a while since the floors had had a good clean, so, he gathered up the carpets and linens and hung them up to air in the sunshine, and he beat them out whilst the boiler full of water heated over the stove.

 

He had the bathroom nice and clean in relatively short order, the copper gleaming, and the grout free from mildew, and started on the other upstairs rooms. He wasn’t in the mood to move out every piece of furniture and scrub the floor properly, but he did give things a good dusting, cleaned out the fireplaces, beat out his cushions and his pillows, and turned his mattress over. He mopped the floorboards, scrubbing at the dirtier areas by the hearths and in the doorways, drew back the curtains and opened the windows to let the light in, then lit fires in the grates to get it all dried out. It was still quite chilly, but it was warmer than most days in winter, and the cold drew the moisture from the air, so he was fairly sure that it would be clean and dry by bedtime, and the fires ought to get it nice and warm again once the windows were shut and curtains drawn. It was early in the afternoon by the time he was finished, at least with the second floor, and he sat and brewed a cup of tea to reward himself.

 

There was no sign of Corbin yet, but, it was still early, scarcely lunchtime, and at least he’d used the time constructively. He felt better for doing that. He was never one to shy away from a little hard labour, and to be perfectly honest, after a lifetime of it he’d grown a little fond of the work. He supposed it was the minds way of keeping itself sane, as back when he worked at the estate he spent most of his days hard at it. He did grow weary of it back then, but he thought that a person could grow weary of anything if they did it from morning till night, and did little else, as he had back then. But nowadays, he found the simple labour soothing, nostalgic even. He supposed it helped that it was his own home he laboured on. He was rather houseproud, and he got to enjoy the fruit of his labour far more than he ever did at the estate. That, and he just liked the smell of the soap.

 

He drank his tea, and made himself a sandwich for lunch, and ate sitting on his back step, breathing in the crisp, fresh air, his housecoat pulled tight around his shoulders to ward off the winter chill. It really was a nice day, there wasn’t so much as a wisp of cloud cover, which was unusual by itself, and while it was cool enough to leave a thick layer of frost, the sun was warm enough to burn it off as the day went on. They were past the worst of winter, the solstice having been some weeks ago, but this was still rather unseasonal. Perhaps they would have an early spring, to counterbalance the harsh start of winter. It was anyone’s guess really, though it was probably foolish of him to think that way. The weather did not care a bit for his whimsy.

 

He finished his sandwich and his tea, washed up his dishes, and was considering whether or not to start on the dining room when the knock came at the door.

 

His heart leapt into his throat, and his breath caught, a nervous flutter brewing in his chest already. He took a steadying breath, and straightened himself out as he hurried to answer.

 

It was Corbin, he was here.

 

Lauchlan felt himself smiling, his cheeks aching and his heart fluttering, and took a second to compose himself, quickly sweeping back his hair and adjusting his patch, and then opened the door wide.

 

Corbin was on the step, the dressed again in his green overcoat and wool hat. His clothes were again neatly laundered and pressed, and his hair though still wildly curling was tucked firmly back behind his ears, even his shoes looked like they had been polished recently.

 

Lauchlan realised then how dirty he was, dressed in natty old clothes and house slippers, stained at elbows wrists and knees, sweat on his brow and dust and soot all over him. Why on earth had he thought that cleaning would be a good way to kill the time? He was filthy now and Corbin had put all that effort into presenting himself neatly.

 

“Corbin, it, it’s so nice to see you again. I, I was rather hoping you’d visit again soon,” he stuttered, blushing even as he and stepped aside to let him enter, and he brushed at his shirt sleeves self consciously.

 

“Is this a bad time? You look like you’ve been rather busy,” Corbin asked, one eyebrow raised, and his head cocked to one side.

 

“Oh, no, no I was just doing some housework. M-must take advantage of the good weather while it lasts, and all that,” he said, shrugging and smiling nervously, his arms still held awkwardly by his side. He wasn’t lying exactly, but he’d rather not admit that he had just been desperate for something to do while he sat on his hands, hoping for Corbin to show his face.

 

“Well, that would explain why everything smells like Sunlight in here,” he said, chuckling. He took of his hat and coat, and hung them on the hook, his curls immediately sprang up, flopping into his face.

 

“Excuse me?” Lauchlan asked, blushing sharply.

 

“Sunlight Soap? The brand? Smells a lot like it in here, and so do you for that matter,” he said as he leaned into his personal space and inhaled. “Did you use a whole bar of the stuff?”

 

“Oh, well, I do like it. It works well, and I, I like the way it smells,” he said, he bit his lip shyly and shrugged again, his blush still glowing bright. For a moment he’d thought Corbin had been talking about something completely different.

 

“Well, there are definitely worse things to smell like I suppose,” he said, chuckling. “I can go if you’re still busy.”

 

“Oh, no, it’s nothing that can’t be put off. I’m feeling more of less done with it for today at any rate. Oh, and, I, uh, I got something, hold on, you, you go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I, I’ll go pop a pot of tea on shall I?” he stuttered.

 

“That’d be nice, thanks,” he said, smiling warmly, and Lauchlan couldn’t help but linger and stare a bit longer than was seemly, before tearing himself away and hurrying down to the kitchen to fix up another pot.

 

He brewed it strong, as he and Corbin both seemed to like it, and fetched the tin of Turkish delight, unwrapping it eagerly, and set it down on the tea tray with the service. As the tea brewed, he wet a cloth with water and a little soap and tried to clean himself up a little, but it was no use. Of all the stupid things to do. He could have at least left a fresh set of clothes out to get changed into, but that would require a level of forethought that seemed out of his reach today. So much for making a good impression, making him fee welcome. Corbin must have thought he’d been forgotten.

 

It could be worse, he supposed. At least he didn’t smell.

 

He brought the tea out, a little damper but no more presentable than before, and set it down on the table between them. Corbin had left his shoes at the door, and splayed out on the settee. He’d thrown another log onto the fire, and got it good and crackling. He seemed content just to have a sit down. Lauchlan hoped he hadn’t walked all the way from Coalford again, even on a fine day like today, that wasn’t a short walk by any means. He poured him a cup, added a generous pour of cream and two sugars, and handed it over. Corbin sipped, and smiled softly, and Lauchlan couldn’t help but feel pride well up in his chest at getting his preference right.

 

He poured another for himself, though having had a cup so recently, he made it with more milk than tea, at least to start with, and then put the service aside, setting the hexagonal sweet tin between them.

 

“I, I went to buy some more ginger the other day, and I saw this. It’s Turkish Delight, the masters used to buy it for their children back when I worked at the estate, and, it, it’s a lot cheaper than it used to be, so I thought, why not? I, I think you’ll like it, and it’s been years since I’ve had any, so I’ve been rather looking forward to it,” he said, smiling self-consciously, and rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“I thought you were hard up, back then?” Corbin asked, one eyebrow raised.

 

“Oh we were, but, there are a few upsides to working in service. Pinching a little treat here in there is a given perk of the job. The masters lock up the cellars, but they always forget the sweets, so Mother and Stepfather would smuggle me some when they got the chance,” he said, shrugging, and sitting down.

 

“Every time I hear about this family of yours, they get less and less virtuous. It suits,” Corbin said, chuckling. He straightened his back, and shifted forward a little, closer to the edge of the seat.

 

“Nobody’s perfect,” Lauchlan shrugged, “and I don’t think the Masters ever really noticed. They only ever took a piece or two at a time. Never enough to warrant a fuss,” he said, and meant it. A few sweets were just a drop in the ocean for them, if even that. They wouldn’t indulge in buying them to begin with, if they couldn’t afford to share a few as well. Besides, it wasn’t as if they were helping themselves to the silverware, or any such thing, just a few harmless sweets. He doubted anyone would judge them for that.

 

“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I left the Backgammon set at home today,” Corbin said, and reached into his coat. He drew out a well thumbed deck of cards, bound together with a faded, fraying length of velvet ribbon, and a flat bit of wood. “How do you feel about cribbage? Still game?”

 

“Well, I don’t see why not. You’ll have to explain the rules though,” Lauchlan said shrugging lightly.

 

Corbin smiled, and set down the wooden crib board on the table between them. It was nowhere near as extravagant as the backgammon set had been. It was made from a small offcut of timber, perhaps a bit of cedar, judging by the smell and the light grain of it. It had been carved, polished and marked with care. It looked homemade, the holes evenly sized, but a little irregularly spaced, and the words “finish” had been carved in and coloured with black ink, the handwriting suspiciously similar to Corbin’s own. The pegs were made of bone and were decorated with a length of coloured thread tightly wound about the head of them, two green, the other two yellow, and like the board, they looked a little too uneven to be anything but handmade. It was sweet, and obviously very well loved. Lauchlan hoped it had a happier origin than the backgammon set did.

 

The cards were old and worn from years of gentle use, stained by greasy fingers here and there, but not so much as to make him suspicious of card marking. Corbin shuffled them without any unnecessary showmanship, offered it to him to cut, and then dealt the hands accordingly.

 

Cribbage was much more complicated than backgammon had been. It seemed an odd mix of blackjack and euchre, though he knew it to be older than both. The aim was to accumulate a score whilst placing cards face up on the table each turn, including the card turned face up in the cut until the accumulated value reached thirty one, tally up the points earned, and played again, he and Corbin competing against each other until someone gained sixty one points and won the match.

 

Whereas backgammon relied heavily on the roll of the dice, Cribbage was a game grounded entirely in good judgment, and, to Lauchlan’s good fortune, a good head for numbers.

 

Corbin seemed to have a good idea of where Lauchlan’s success stemmed from by now, and compensated by teasing him, and goading him on, trying to distract him even as he explained the rules of the game. He was resorting to fighting dirty now, a thought that was surprisingly encouraging, and Lauchlan resolved to giving back as good as he got. He was good at this sort of game, and though he lacked anything resembling a poker face, his inexperience with the scoring system, and the constant smile that lurked on his lips from Corbin’s gentle teasing made it rather unnecessary, and the hands played out with them both even pegged until they reached its hard-won conclusion.

 

Corbin took the final show with a triplet royal of three jacks, and with it the match. He didn’t gloat as Lauchlan suspected he might, but he did look inordinately pleased with himself as Lauchlan pushed the sweet tin toward him.

 

He hesitated and delicately cracked open the lid, setting it aside gently, and folded back the protective tissue paper.

 

“So what are these made out of exactly?” he asked, scrutinising the colourful rolls with an oddly intense expression.

 

“Well, now you mention it, I’m not entirely sure. They’re very nice though, very sweet, and sort of gummy? It’s been a while. But the pink ones are rosewater flavoured, and the yellow ones should be lemon,” Lauchlan said, pointing.

 

Corbin picked up the top most piece, a rosewater one, and shook it lightly, so that the loose dusting of sugar settled back into the tin. He popped it into his mouth, and Lauchlan’s breath caught. Christ, his face, he looked surprised, pleased but surprised all the same, and he leaned back in his seat as he rolled it from one cheek to the other, savouring it as he slowly chewed, his hand still poised just above his lips, his fingertips dusted with sugar, and he licked them one by one, leaving a smear of white sugar in his bristles.

 

Lauchlan tried not to think about the taste of it. He failed, though, and wondered if they were as sweet as he remembered. Wondered if they still tasted like sweetness and spring. Wondered if Corbin would kiss him again.

 

Just a kiss. That was all. Was it really so unreasonable to just, duck into some private nook and just, kiss him again? He just, wanted to. It was foolish and it was unseemly of him, but, he just wished he could kiss him. He couldn’t think of anything he really wanted more in that moment.

 

“I spoke to Theresa, the other day,” he said, looking pointedly down at the table. He gathered up the cards and began shuffling, just for something to do with his hands.

 

“Oh, what about?” Corbin asked, his words muffled by the sweet.

 

“About what you told me, before. You were right, of course, I don’t think I got through to her, but, I had to say something,” he said, shrugging.

 

“Oh, don’t tell me you went and meddled?” Corbin groaned, his shoulders slumping.

 

“Shouldn’t I have?” Lauchlan asked, his stomach sinking.

 

“No! Honestly Lauchlan, what did you say? You must have embarrassed her to death,” Corbin said, pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb.

 

“Well, I certainly got myself halfway there, but I don’t think I put my foot in it too deeply. I just, told her that she was barking up the wrong tree, so to speak, not in those words though, I, I tried to be gentle with it,” he said.

 

“Drew a line in the sand, did you?”

 

“I just, I just didn’t want her to waste any more of her time. She deserves better than that,” he said, and held out the deck for Corbin to cut.

 

Corbin sighed deeply, and took the whole deck from him, cut it, and then began the deal the both of them in.

 

“You know that won’t help, don’t you? Telling her that it’s a silly infatuation isn’t going to stop her from being infatuated. No amount of logic will, that’s what makes it an infatuation. Now she’s just as infatuated and worse, she’s embarrassed and ashamed of it on top of it all, or god knows what’s going on in her head. Whatever it is, it’s not going to make her stop being infatuated, just stop her from being happy about it.”

 

“Did you have to put it like that?” asked Lauchlan, rubbing his temples wearily.

 

“Yes, look, you’ve done it now, there’s no helping that, just don’t bring it up again. It’ll run it’s course, and unless she does anything about it, neither of you will have to get all up in arms. Just pretend you don’t know for God’s sake, it’ll be so much simpler that way,” said Corbin.

 

Lauchlan shifted uncomfortably, and hid his face behind his hand of cards. Damn, he had a terrible hand, all numbers and not a single pair, and not even a sequence for a run or a flush. At least he had ample fodder for the crib.

 

“Why tell me if you just wanted me to pretend not to know? I didn’t know!” he groused.

 

“I didn’t think you’d actually do anything about it! At least not after the way you went on. I just thought you’d be better off knowing,” Corbin barked.

 

Lauchlan held his tongue at that, and ducked his face behind his hand again. He _was_ glad for knowing, Corbin was right about that, especially with the way Theresa had been short changing herself. But it stung all the same. He had never wanted to hurt her, and he thought he’d handled it well. Perhaps not with the same delicacy it needed, but well. Though, he supposed Corbin had a good point. The heart wanted what the heart wanted, and trying to argue with it was as good as arguing with a brick wall. He’d learned that much he hard way, but still, he would have liked to know if he ever actually had a chance at all, at least, so far as Ida was concerned. It wouldn’t have made things any easier, but, it would have offered him a little closure, and that counted for quite a lot in the scheme of things. It wouldn’t have stopped it from hurting, but it would have been _something_.

 

But maybe Corbin was right, god knows he’d felt embarrassed enough doing the telling, it wouldn’t be too presumptuous to imagine that Theresa had felt so much more at being told. Time would tell if she could forgive him.

 

The play began, and he managed to scrape up a score of fifteen with the starter, while Corbin sat on a pair, bringing him back into the game again.

 

He glanced up, that damn bit of sugar was still there, taunting him, and Lauchlan quickly averted his gaze. As if he didn’t have enough on his hands right now, he couldn’t keep himself from drooling all over Corbin. He flushed self consciously, as his little moment of indulgence sprang to mind unbidden. God, he didn’t need to think about that right now, but he was. Damn his bloody one-track mind.

 

God, what if Corbin could see right through him? Heavens knew he could read everyone else like a book, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to imagine he did the same to him. Just ignore it, he’d said, let it run its course. Was that what this was? Corbin letting this run its course? No, it couldn’t be, it was hardly the same, they had made, no, they’d had _sex_. Sex was different. It’d been incredible, but it was still just sex. It didn’t entitle him to anything, didn’t prove anything, it didn’t even mean he’d liked him, just he’d found him attractive enough to have a go of it. Though, the lengths he’d gone to just to be with him those few days, he’d gone out into the wind and the weather, risked exposure and even death, though he doubted Corbin had taken that particular risk knowingly. The sex might not have meant anything, but surely that did? Lauchlan hadn’t really known Corbin then, he’d make no claim to understand him, even now, but he knew enough about him to like him more and more. Enough to want this to be something a bit more permanent. He hoped, he hoped there was something there.

 

Would Corbin even want that? He kept coming round, so he must at least like his company, if only a little, he wouldn’t bother otherwise. But, was that what he thought? That Lauchlan just had a silly infatuation, if that? He mightn’t even be wrong, if he did, Lauchlan didn’t know himself. He could be right, but Lauchlan hoped to god he was wrong. He didn’t think he could stand it if he ruined it again, it was bad enough the first time.

 

Still the least he could do, was, well, he did still owe Corbin. He’d call it due eventually, and when he did, well, maybe he’d have it figured out by then. And even if he didn’t, he felt reasonably sure that he’d enjoy it. God, that wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d do, but here he was thinking it all the same.

 

“You alive in there?” Corbin asked.

 

Lauchlan blushed harder, and quickly laid down his play, a triplet with the starter again, and Corbin huffed, though Lauchlan couldn’t tell whether he was impressed or irritated by his luck.

 

“I, I’m sorry, you’ve given me a lot to think about,” he said.

 

“Well, I guess I did at that. Are you alright? Overthinking it isn’t going to do you any good,” he said.

 

“I just, I hope I haven’t made a mistake,” he sighed.

 

“Of course you have, we all do, otherwise you wouldn’t be human,” he scoffed, “Look, I didn’t mean to point the blame at you, or anything like that. I was surprised, is all, it’s not the end of the world, for you or for her. Just let it lie for a while. This is one of those things that she has to deal with it on her own,” he said.

 

“You think so?” asked Lauchlan.

 

“I’m not saying you turf her out onto the street if she comes to you for help, or that you snub her if she wants to talk about it, just that it’s personal. If she comes to you for help, help her, if she wants to talk, listen, if she doesn’t leave her be. It’s up to her,” he said, shrugging.

 

“How’d you figure that?” he asked.

 

“A lifetime of experience,” he chuckled, a wry grin on his face. “Go.”

 

“What?”

 

“The count’s thirty one. Go,” he said, nodding toward the cards.

 

Lauchlan fumbled for his cards, but couldn’t manage to get in any more points before ending the go. Corbin dealt in new hands, and they started over.

 

“Do, do you think that, we, that doing, what we do, what we’ve done, do you think it’s still possible to,” he tapered off unsure of what it was he was doing, what it was he was saying. What? Was it possible to fall in love? God, that, he couldn’t ask Corbin _that_ , what was he thinking? He wasn’t, is what he was.

 

“Possible to what?”

 

“N-never mind, it was a stupid question,” he muttered.

 

“You sure? I can promise you, I’ve probably heard worse,” said Corbin, chuckling.

 

Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, he supposed. What did he have to lose? Corbin could read him like a book as it was, he doubted it would come as a surprise. His dignity was long lost anyway.

 

“I, just, I feel different, since we did this. Better. More content, I suppose. Did, do you think that, that’s, I don’t know, not normal, but, alright?” he stuttered, it hadn’t been what he’d wanted to ask but, he found his nerves had left him the moment he’d started talking.

 

“You think because you buggered a man you’re not allowed to be happy?” Corbin asked, one eyebrow raised incredulously, and a bark of laughter behind the words.

 

“I, I just, I’ve never felt, quite like this, I, I don’t know if, if it’s real, or, or anything, really. I don’t, I just don’t want to make a fool of myself again,” he said, blushing, and shrugging helplessly. It was cowardly of him, hiding behind unspoken truths and vague wording, but, he had never claimed to be anything else, had he?

 

Corbin softened at that, something tender peeking out behind his mirth. He laid his hand face down on the table, and reached out to him, clasping his shoulder tightly, his hand warm and strong. Lauchlan sighed, deeply, relishing at the touch and for a moment, he swore, Corbin must have known.

 

“Lauchlan, there’s nothing wrong with you, alright? You’re not hurting anybody, you’re not hurting yourself, and you not bloody insane or whatever it is people say about people like us. You’re _fine_. You’re allowed to be bloody happy. You don’t need anyone’s permission for that,” he said, squeezing him tightly to emphasise his words.

 

“Are, are you just saying that to make me feel better, or do you know that from a lifetime of experience, too?” Lauchlan asked, staring meekly up at him.

 

“A bit of both, I think,” said Corbin, smiling ruefully.

 

Lauchlan felt his heart melt, the warmth of Corbin’s palm on his shoulders soaking through him and filling him to bursting. Maybe, this wasn’t as foolish as it felt. Maybe it was real this time. Corbin’s expression was achingly gentle, and, damn, he still had that bit of sugar there.

 

Maybe it was his emotions making him foolish, or maybe all the time he’d spent with Corbin had eroded his self-control, but, he kissed him. It was a clumsy thing, the corner of the coffee table between them, and Corbin just a little out of reach. He cupped Corbin’s cheeks in his hands, and all but clambered halfway over to meet him there. He pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, where that teasing bit of sugar clung, his lips were chapped and dry, but the lingering sugar made him taste as sweet as he remembered, his cheeks rough with stubble beneath his hands, but oh he felt so _warm_. It was a chaste, gentle thing, and he pulled back, after just a moment, drawing his lip back into his mouth, between his teeth, the taste of him sweet on the tip of his tongue, and as his heart fluttered, thoughts of _maybe_ , _maybe_ , _maybe,_ circled round his head, loud and strong. It made him giddy.

 

It took him an embarrassingly long time to realise that Corbin had gone stiff as a board. It must’ve only been a moment, but it was as if time had seemed to crawl, his senses over taken by the fluttering of his heart and the sweetness of the sugar. But when that moment crawled past, and he realised that Corbin was staring at him, his face twisted in what could only be horror, he realised where he was. Christ there was an open window right behind them, anyone could see, Theresa could come in at any moment and see them together, just as she had before, what had he _done?_

 

He shrank back, burning with shame and fear in equal measure.

 

“Oh my goodness, I, I shouldn’t have done that, I, I don’t know what I was _thinking_ , I’m sorry! I’m so sorry,” he stuttered, hiding his face in his hands.

 

Corbin coughed, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn’t seem angry, at least, but he certainly wasn’t pleased. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes had a steely chill to them that made Lauchlan squirm in discomfort.

 

“You know, I’m certain we’ve had this conversation before, about there being a time and place?” he said, his voice firm. He leaned back in his chair, and crossed one leg over the other.

 

“I know, I know, I just, I didn’t think. I, I’m so sorry,” Lauchlan said, his voice muffled by his hands, but he was too humiliated to come up just yet.

 

Corbin looked out the window, scrutinising it from the corner of his eye, his expression schooled into careful neutrality. The street was quiet, hansoms passed by every so often, but there was little foot traffic for the moment, with it being just after lunchtime. They waited and watched on bated breath for several minutes, and while the street was far from deserted, no one seemed to be looking in their direction, or paying them any sort of close attention, which was nothing short of a godsend.

 

“Well, lucky for us, looks like there’s no harm done, just think next time? A little restraint goes a long way. You need to be more careful, things being as they are,” Corbin sighed, his voice softening a fraction.

 

“N-next time?” Lauchlan stuttered, his blush crawling yet higher as his heart thudded in his chest. He hadn’t ruined it, not yet, to say that was a relief was an understatement of massive proportions.

 

“Well, we’ll see about that, shan’t we?” he said, his lips curling into a grin that did not reach his eyes, and he took the cards back up in his hands.

 

If Lauchlan’s face hadn’t been glowing red already, it would be now, more so if it were possible, but he was fairly certain he had pushed his embarrassed flush to its limit as it was. He had dropped his cards in his moment of abandon, and had to gather them up, it only took a few moments but it felt like an age, with Corbin watching and waiting, and once he had them back in order, the game resumed.

 

The atmosphere cooled a fraction, then, but Corbin seemed not to notice, or at least, not to dwell on it, and they played out the hand much the same as the one before. Corbin took the lead again, and the match soon after. He took another rosewater sweet as his reward, and Lauchlan shuffled and dealt out new hands.

 

They played into the afternoon, and while Lauchlan enjoyed Corbin’s company, the atmosphere did not warm again. Corbin was on edge, nervous and though he kept a cool head, and calm expression, Lauchlan could tell he had scared him. He didn’t goad him like he had before, didn’t egg him on and grin and look up from underneath his eyelashes. He had scared him, made him feel like he wasn’t safe anymore, and god did that sting.

 

He hadn’t known what he was thinking, doing a thing like that. He’d known the risks, known what was at stake, what could happen to them, but, in that moment, he’d forgotten. No, that was the wrong word. He’d remembered, he couldn’t just forget a thing like that, but he just, hadn’t cared anymore. All he’d cared about was wanting to kiss him. Wanting to show him how, much, he, felt.

 

This, was real, wasn’t it? It had to be. He wasn’t stupid, he didn’t have a deathwish, he had no reason to do what he’d done. But he’d done it, because, because, he, well, maybe he, maybe it was real.

 

If the worst had happened then. If they’d been seen, and reported, and convicted to a sentence of hard labour, or sent to the asylums, he didn’t think that he’d regret it. Certainly he’d regret acting so foolishly, of condemning them both to so horrid a fate on an ill-thought whim. He’d regret that for the rest of his life, no matter how short or how long it turned out to be. But he wouldn’t regret Corbin. Wouldn’t regret falling into bed with him, wouldn’t regret falling in love with him.

 

He, could admit that, to himself, now. With the taste of him on his tongue and the ghost of his touch lingering on his skin. Could admit that to himself now he realised just how much, how much he’d go through for this man. The man who he’d been nothing but a burden to, who he’d hurt, again and again, who’d seen him humiliate himself over and over, but still kept coming back despite everything he’d done, everything he kept on doing. Who never seemed to care how low he stooped, who never thought any less of him no matter how many foolish decisions he made.

 

This couldn’t be infatuation. It was perhaps as foolish as one, certainly, but, it was rooted too deep, and it had consumed his life so completely. And even if it was infatuation, maybe, maybe it could be nurtured and grown, into something more than that. He wanted that. Wanted to spend his life like this, doing that.

 

Corbin more or less ran the game over him. He was so deep in his thoughts he had little attention to pay to the game, and honestly he didn’t much care anymore. He’d bought the sweets for Corbin, after all, he didn’t mind if he didn’t get any. He just played his cards, and contemplated, basking in his company all the while.

 

He could live his life like this. Certainly, he could do without the fear and the constant need to watch his back, but that was his own damn fault. But, just spending time with Corbin, like this? When he was quiet and gentle, and they had no expectations of, anything, just each others company. If he spent every Sunday, just like this, he would be happy.

 

And, perhaps, well, if they could find a little privacy, every now and again, that, that would make it even better.

 

“You’ve had your head in the clouds today,” said Corbin, as he took another match.

 

He’d eaten most of the rosewater sweets already, and while he did reach for one of the few remaining pink sweets, he thought better of it, and instead took a lemon one.

 

“I, I’ve been a bit, distracted today. Still, I don’t mind. It’s lovely, just to have you here. I enjoy your company,” he said, blushing a little as he took up the deck and shuffled.

 

“Well, that would explain why you haven’t kicked me out for eating all your sweets, yet,” he laughed, and pushed the tin toward him, “You should eat some of these, you bought them after all.”

 

Lauchlan smiled, and took a rosewater sweet. It tasted even better than he remembered, soft and rich and sweet, with the velvety, perfumed taste of flowers and spring. He could see why Corbin liked them so much more than lemon.

 

He laid the deck down on the table, to cut, but Corbin picked the lot up, his fingers burning where Corbin’s brushed against his own, and he tied it up with the ribbon again.

 

“I ought to get going,” he said, smiling politely.

 

“Oh, I, I see,” Lauchlan pulled his hand back, holding it in the other, the ghost of his touch fluttering across his skin. “Plans for this evening, then?”

 

“Just work, as usual. Sorry for running roughshod over you. I’d wait till you won a match or two, but you’ve had plenty of opportunities now,” he said, cocking his head to one side, and smiling knowingly at him. He slid the crib board into his pocket with the deck, and stood, Lauchlan hurrying to mirror him.

 

“Corbin, before you go, could, could we please just, go someplace more private, for a moment,” he stuttered, nervously wringing his hands behind his back.

 

Corbin gave him a rather dry look, glancing at him up and down and then right through him, but nodded, and nudged his head back toward the hallway.

 

Lauchlan gulped, but lead him back down the hall, and pulled him into a small nook, beneath the staircase and in the corner of the hall, by the door to the kitchen. It felt, juvenile, leading him there, like an errant youth canoodling with their sweetheart in the woodshed, but, leading him upstairs to his bedroom or his study, felt a little too presumptuous, and the floor might still be wet, anyhow. He wouldn’t wish the discomfort of damp socks on him, not in this sort of chill. He could get frostbite.

 

Besides, it was a safe spot, for what he wanted. No windows, and no line of sight from any other room. It was sheltered. Still, he felt, terribly, terribly silly, and more than a little embarrassed. And when Corbin eyed the cramped little space, and looked at him, lips a flat line and an eyebrow cocked, he felt like his blush could swallow him whole, and wished he’d brought him up to the study despite the wet floor.

 

“Corbin, I, I wanted to apologize, again, for, ah, for earlier. I thought, I ought not to do it in the open,” he stuttered.

 

“Alright. Apology accepted,” Corbin said, shrugging loosely.

 

“T-Thankyou, I’m grateful. But, you see, I was, well, I hoped that, maybe, maybe you might, well. I know this is presumptuous but, I thought, maybe, ah, well, I, I don’t know how to put this,” he tittered nervously.

 

“Breathe, Lauchlan,” Corbin said, grasping his shoulder and squeezing gently.

 

Lauchlan took a deep breath, and then a few more, trying to calm his fluttering heart. With Corbin’s warmth seeping into him, it was not a simple task.

 

He needed to say something. Ask him. Tell him. He didn’t know. But, he needed to say _something_.

 

“I, do hope, you’ll come again, next Sunday, or, or Saturday evening even?” he asked.

 

“I can’t make any promises, you know that,” Corbin said, not unkindly, and shrugged.

 

“I know, I know, b-but perhaps Saturday evening? For dinner, maybe? I’d like to see you, and, it might be a little easier. And, while I, I’d lo-like to see you, it might be better to have, a set date, it, might be more private, that way,” he said, his nerve abandoning him again. The words he wanted slipping from his grasp, out of reach.

 

“Well, I can try, can’t do much more than that,” Corbin said, shrugging.

 

“That’s, all I wanted, thankyou, I, I’ll look forward to seeing you again,” he finished, lamely. He didn’t know why the words were so elusive. Corbin was looking at him, his smile soft and genuine, his hands warm and strong, and the words just fled.

 

There was always the possibility, that Corbin, didn’t want that from him. That he would laugh at him, or worse, that he would scare him off. But, he refused to believe that, he meant nothing to him. Corbin had been kind to him, had put up with so much for so little reward, he had to care, at least a little. Lauchlan didn’t think he’d mind, if Corbin didn’t, couldn’t love him, if only he continued to care as he did now. What they had, it was enough. More than enough. More than he’d ever had before, ever dreamed of having.

 

He didn’t want any more from him. He just wanted him to know. But, the words wouldn’t come, couldn’t come. So he just looked at him, stared down at him, thinking _I love you_ but saying goodbye, wishing he could kiss him, but doing nothing more than helping him into his overcoat, and holding the door.

 

Corbin smiled, when he left, and Lauchlan’s heart thudded.

 

He sank into the wingback chair, still soft and filled with Corbin’s warmth, and sunk his teeth into a sugary lump of Turkish Delight, and thought _I love him_.

 

A year ago, that thought would have sickened him, terrified him, and now, well, it was still terrifying. But he loved him.

 

He _loved_ him.

 

Next week, he’d do better. He knew he could do it. He would.

 

Next week he’d do it, say it, and if he couldn’t, well, there was the week after, and, well. He’d do it. He had time.

 

He loved him, and, it was enough.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit odd. Like I said, it was originally meant to be part of chapter fourteen, but when Theresa’s part was expanded, this part was cut off and made into it’s own thing. It’s a bit too short, and also a bit too long, for what it is. I tried to suture it onto the next chapter, but that resulted in a 16,000 word monstrosity, with enough tonal shift to give a person whiplash, so that didn’t stick. I tried to expand some things so that it would stand alone better but it still feels vestigial, it’s just, hanging around without much purpose now. Still, Lauchlan’s “coming to grips” is too important to leave out, so here it is. I know it’s a bit weak, but I’m ready to move on. Next chapter things are going to get much more interesting. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos! I really appreciate each and every one :) 
> 
> Also, as one last footnote, I made myself a tumblr recently. My new blog can be found at aboxfullofnonsense.tumblr.com I’ll be announcing future fics and updates there, as well as the occasional sketch, and other bits and pieces. I would love to talk to you guys, so please come say hi, and feel free to ask questions about me, or MBWLAYWGS, or basically anything if you want. I’d love to get to know you guys.


	16. Going Out on a Limb

 

His working week seemed to both pass by unbearably slowly, and to be over far too quickly. He had to admit, his revelation had left him feeling a little trepidatious, if not outright terrified, but, somehow, he couldn’t find it in himself to abandon it. He was sure, this time. It felt real, felt right, and that was worth more than a little anxiety. God knew he had no shortage of that, even on his best days. Still, he worried, as he always did, and likely always would, about numerous what if’s and other paranoid conjurations, wringing his hands as the hours ticked by, waiting and watching, afraid, but not afraid enough to bury it. At work, time seemed almost to crawl by, but then, Saturday arrived just as he was beginning to think it never would, and he started right up on worrying again, new fears consuming the old.

 

He hoped Corbin would come, he knew he’d made no promises, but, he hoped. He wasn’t sure what to do about food, he had no shortage of sweets, but, he didn’t want to burden Theresa with a second meal to cook, or to leave Corbin in that awkward position of having to cook his own again, and given the events of last week, he did not think it would be wise to leave his door unbolted. So he wrote her a short note, apologizing for the late notice, and told her he was hoping to have a guest for the evening, and as such would make his own arrangements, and slipped it under the Shier’s scullery door before he bolted his own scullery tight, and headed off to work.

 

He fretted about dinner all day long. God knew he was an abysmal cook, and Corbin, well, was much better. He wanted to make sure he had something suitable, he’d invited the man to dinner for gods sake, he couldn’t do that and then not feed him, but he didn’t want to over prepare in case he didn’t arrive, and though he wanted to impress him, this was not exactly his area of expertise. He knew when he was in over his head. In the end he ended up buying a pair of meat pies from a vendor on his way home, as well as a newspaper and some fresh vegetables from the grocer. The pies could be heated up again without too much fuss, and he could handle vegetables. And if Corbin didn’t come, he was sure Vagabond would appreciate a hot pie for dinner just as much.

 

He wrapped the pies up in cheese cloth to keep them warm, and stashed them in the pantry. He laid some tinder in the oven and lit it, hoping to get it warm and ready for dinner later in the evening.

 

He puttered about the house for a while after that, tidying things that didn’t really need to be tidied, combing his hair, straightening himself out, just generally fussing uselessly like an old dowager. He knew it was foolish and a waste of his time, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He was anxious, and he hoped and he waited, his feelings beating through him, growing louder and louder as the minutes slipped by.

 

He loved him. It was such an odd thing to think, such an odd thing to feel, but it was real. He didn’t know if he could tell him, not quite yet, but just knowing it was quite a feeling on it’s own. He wasn’t sure what to do with it just yet, but Christ it was a feeling.

 

A knock at the door shook him from his ineffectual fussing, and he ran for the door with his heart in his mouth.

 

“Corbin!” he greeted him, cheerfully, his heart fluttering and a smile on his face. “I was hoping you’d make it.”

 

“I know, you said as much,” Corbin said and shrugged, but he smiled at him all the same.

 

Lauchlan helped him out of his overcoat, and Corbin didn’t shrug him off, which was nice. He toed off his shoes and hung up his hat, and Lauchlan steered the both of them into the dining room.

 

“I, ah, hope you don’t mind but I, ah, outsourced a bit of dinner tonight. Y-you know how terrible I am at cooking,” he said, apologetically.

 

Corbin paused, and looked up at him, his head cocked to one side and his hands held together behind his back.

 

“You, want us to have dinner?” he asked, frowning.

 

Lauchlan frowned back, pausing midstep.

 

“Well, yes? I-I invited you to dinner after all, and, you came, didn’t you?” he said, shrugging his shoulders, unsure of what else to say.

 

“Oh, I thought, I ate already. I thought you just wanted to meet now for timings sake,” Corbin said, a looking downward sheepishly.

 

“Oh, no, I meant, well, never mind now,” he said, feeling more than a little foolish for all his useless fretting. No wonder Corbin had agreed so easily.

 

“I could still eat though,” said Corbin, shrugging and cocking his head.

 

“Oh, so, well, a light dinner is still on the cards then?” Lauchlan said, clasping his hands hopefully.

 

“Sounds nice,” Corbin said, with a shrug, and Lauchlan smiled at the sight, the weight lifting off his shoulders.

 

He settled Corbin in at the table to wait, and offered him the paper, glad he’d had the forethought to buy one, even if he’d lacked the focus to read it himself, and went to the scullery to prepare dinner. The fire had burned down to warm, glowing embers by now, which was just perfect, and he quickly went about getting dinner ready, warming up the pies and cooking the vegetables over the coals. He left out a bit of fish for Vagabond’s dinner, but she didn’t come to claim it. He supposed she must have been asleep by the fire still. Dinner was cooked in relatively short order, and he arranged it on the plates and brought them out with the settings.

 

“Pie, huh?“ Corbin said, smiling and folding the newspaper.

 

“It-though, well, you can’t go wrong with pie,” he said, setting the plate in front of him. He noticed, then, what had been keeping Vagabond occupied. She was twined around the legs of the chair, her head pillowed on one of his feet, her paws up in the air, and she was chewing a twisted scrap of newsprint, pulp strewn across her fur, and down Corbin’s trousers. Corbin must have been playing with her, that, or she had waged war for a share of the newspaper and won. Either possibility seemed rather sweet to him.

 

“She likes you,” he laughed. It was unusual for Vagabond to like people. She was not an unsociable animal, but she tended to take a good deal of time to warm to strangers, and until then they got the cold shoulder. He supposed Corbin must have crossed that threshold now.

 

“If this is what she does when she likes me, I don’t want to get on her bad side,” he said, and held up the paper, the lower edges had been quite viciously clawed and chewed on, rendering most of the last paragraph a tattered mess.

 

“She’s just playing. If she hated you, you’d know, I promise. You’d be bleeding, for one,” he laughed, and sat down across from him, pulling his plate toward him.

 

“That does not inspire confidence,” he laughed, shaking his head. He set the paper aside, and tucked into his own meal.

 

They ate in a companionable quiet. Lauchlan wasn’t sure what to talk about, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk, either. There was something pleasant about the quiet, about just being able to sit, together, and share their company, without any sort of smokescreen, or excuse. It was good.

 

Lauchlan smiled like a fool the whole meal through, and though Corbin gave him a rather strange look, for it, he couldn’t stop if he tried.

 

“Thanks for that, I guess. Wasn’t expecting this, but, it was nice,” Corbin said, pushing his empty plate forward.

 

Lauchlan smiled, and gathered up the plates, taking them out to the scullery. Corbin followed, and Lauchlan knew better that to try to talk him out of it. He filled the tea kettle, and slung it over the coals, then filled the wash trough, and Corbin found himself a tea towel without needing to be asked.

 

“You don’t need to do that, you know,” Lauchlan said, if only to be polite, he knew it was pointless.

 

“I don’t mind. Besides, I’d only be waiting around otherwise. I’d rather be doing something,” Corbin shrugged.

 

“I can appreciate that,” Lauchlan said, he’d been doing little else himself.

 

They got to work, quiet falling over them yet again. It was, nice, this. Lauchlan hadn’t ever thought he’d enjoy doing the dishes, but, here he was. He supposed it was Corbin’s influence, then. Ida would have sooner left him, than do this sort of thing voluntarily. She did actually. Most people saw this sort of thing as being beneath them, something for the help, or for the unfortunate too poor to run their houses properly, with staff, that is. Like it was a great and terrible burden to clean up after themselves, and why bother showing a little common courtesy when that was what they paid maids for? But, Corbin didn’t care, didn’t complain, he just got on with it.

 

Lauchlan appreciated that about him. Loved it about him even, and up to his elbows in suds, he realized, he could live like this. It was impossible, but, he would, if he could. He’d be happy.

 

His heart thudded in his chest, and he turned, looking at Corbin, just looking at him. He really did love this man. Every time he thought he’d come to grips with that it knocked him for six again. He loved him.

 

He almost said it then, just, blurted it out, but the words caught in his throat, and he swallowed them back down. Corbin would think he was mad, just spitting out something like that while they were doing the dishes. There would be a far better time, for that later. Or at least he hoped so. It would be hard to do worse than now.

 

Corbin noticed him staring at him, and raised an eyebrow at him, a hand on his hip as he waited for Lauchlan to say something, but Lauchlan could only blush and turn back to the trough, flustered. The kettle whistled a moment later, calling him away, and Lauchlan could have kissed it for the distraction, though he’d didn’t fancy the burn it would leave him with. He prepared a pot of tea, and Corbin finished up the dishes.

 

“So, fancy some Cribbage again?” Corbin said, cheerfully, as the pot was steeping.

 

“Again? W-we don’t have to play every time you come around, you know. I, I eand, I enjoy it, I do, but, we don’t have to,” said Lauchlan. As much as he enjoyed himself, it would be nice to just, talk. Or perhaps, other things. The memory of his little indulgence sprang to mind unbidden, and his breath caught. The debt, the debt had to be called due at one time of another, wouldn’t it? Then they would, well, pay it in full, he supposed. He shuddered involuntarily, and did his best to fix his attention on the teapot.

 

“We can give it a pass if you want, but personally I think we should keep it up until you can win at least one match. I know you’ve got it in you” he laughed, crossing his arms and cocking his head, his smile wide and teasing.

 

“Well, when you put it like _that”_ Lauchlan chuckled, and blushed. He put the service on the tray, and they set out for the front parlour.

 

They settled across form one another. Corbin pulled the crib board and cards from his pockets, and dealt the both of them in while Lauchlan poured their tea, a set out a plate of sugared ginger for stakes.

 

They played again, and Lauchlan did all he could to keep his head in the game, though with Corbin that proved a difficult task. Corbin didn’t taunt him or tease him, this time, in fact Lauchlan got the distinct feeling he was going easy on him, but, he was distracting all the same.

 

Corbin sat across from him, one leg crossed over the other, his hand of cards held loosely between his fingers, dangling from his knee. He lifted his right hand to his temple, and scratched at his scalp, tousling his already disheveled hair. It sent a lock tumbling down into his face, which he puffed at irritably.

 

Lauchlan stared resolutely down at his hand, but he couldn’t unsee it, couldn’t keep himself from looking at him, and his fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and tuck the offensive curl behind his ear, stroke along his jaw, draw him into a kiss, drown himself in the taste of him. He swallowed, mouth dry, his throat tight, played down a pair, and drew from the deck with trembling hands.

 

The desire was uncalled for, unprecedented, but suddenly, sitting in this spot, looking at Corbin across from him, and it hungered.

 

Why on earth hadn’t Corbin called the debt due by now? Lauchlan appreciated the man waiting for him to be ready, those first few weeks had been rough on him, but he was ready. He’d been ready, so ready, for weeks now. He wanted it, god help him, he wanted it more than anything, but Corbin just carried on with their smokescreen like nothing had changed.

 

He wanted, he needed something to give. He loved Corbin, and he wanted him, wanted, wanted what he’d promised him, and the debt loomed above him like an anvil suspended by a twine, creaking and groaning, threatening to snap and fall upon his head at the slightest provocation. Out of sight but by no means out of mind.

 

He didn’t pretend to know what was going on in Corbin’s head, but he could certainly _imagine_. He must’ve felt something for him, he would never have waited for Lauchlan this long otherwise, would never have been so considerate to him, so kind to him, and Lauchlan wanted to take this, further, in every meaning of the word.

 

He played, he was distracted, but still hellbent on winning at least one round. Then, maybe, well, he’d best not think about that yet. First, he had to win. Then he would, they would, well, he didn’t know. Maybe he’d tell him, maybe not. He wasn’t sure yet.

 

He didn’t know what they’d do, how they’d work this sort of thing out in the long term, or if Corbin even wanted that from him, but he knew that now he’d had a taste of it he never wanted to live without it again. He had to give it a go but, he just didn’t know how. It needed, he needed some sort of closure, and he didn’t think he could wait any longer. He just wanted to _do_ it. Wanted to taste him, wanted to pleasure him until he came undone. Wanted to feel his breath on his ear and his fingers on his skin. Wanted him so completely.

 

And, well, even if Corbin said no. Even if Corbin didn’t want Lauchlan in that way, he thought he’d have rather have the memory of doing, that, than nothing. Would rather know that he’d done that for him, that he’d done, something good for him, as Corbin had for him time and time again. Would rather go, knowing he’d done all he could.

 

He laid down another pair, and reached to move his pegs, and jolted with the realization that he’d managed to win the match. Corbin laid down his hand and clapped, though Lauchlan wasn’t sure if he was being polite, mocking, or both.

 

“Knew you could do it,” he said, and Lauchlan blushed sharply.

 

“I-I, well, thankyou,” he stuttered.

 

Corbin smiled, and pushed the ginger toward him.

 

Lauchlan looked down at the plate, and suddenly remembered his distaste, remembered how little he actually liked the sweets. Why imagine kissing when, he just, could? Why pretend when Corbin was right _there_. This, this had gone on for so long now, and though Lauchlan had enjoyed every step of the way, he was ready for the end of it. He laid his remaining cards down on the table, and drew a deep, fortifying breath.

 

“Corbin, about, about, that favour I owe you. C-could we talk?” Lauchlan stuttered, his throat tight. His collar felt like it was trying to strangle him.

 

Corbin’s expression went dark, like a shutter slamming shut, and Lauchlan flinched in surprise. It was as if the room had cooled several degrees.

 

“What about it?” Corbin said, his voice flat, toneless, his face blank.

 

Lauchlan felt his heart flutter uncertainly in his chest, and swallowed nervously.

 

“C-could you, give me a moment?” he stuttered. He got up and hurried to the bay window. He opened the plate glass and leaned out to bolt the shutters closed, then latched the panes, and drew both layers of drapes shut. It muffled the clamour of the street outside, making the room feel a little eerie, but he felt more confident for having the privacy.

 

“Corbin, I ah, I was wondering,” his voice caught in his throat, and he rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks cherry red. He didn’t like the look Corbin was giving him. He thought that he’d picked a good time, thought he’d read Corbin’s moods right, but the deeper in he got, the more he worried that he was wrong.

 

Corbin raised an eyebrow at him, and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“You, well, it’s been a while now, and you haven’t asked about, _it_ ,” he stuttered, wringing his hands.

 

“You hardly seemed up to it,” Corbin drawled, though he seemed to relax a little, a touch of warmth returning to his expression.

 

“Well, no. Not at first. I mean, I do appreciate you, waiting, for that, for me. But, I would like to talk about this,” he stuttered, perching by Corbin’s side on the settee.

 

Corbin cocked an eyebrow at him, and leaned against the arm, one hand on his hip.

 

“So talk,” he said.

 

Lauchlan wet his lips, looking down into his lap, and fidgeted, gathering up his courage.

 

“I’d like, I’d like it if, well, you see, I, I want,” his words meandered around uselessly, the words he wanted hopelessly out of reach, his face reddening with every aborted start. Corbin stilled him, grasping his knee and squeezing it tightly.

 

“Lauchlan, just stop, alright? Breathe,” he commanded.

 

Lauchlan obeyed him, taking a deep breath and putting his face in his hands, hiding his blush. He could feel his dignity fleeing down the hall in a bid to save itself.

 

“I’m not going to bite you, you know. It’s not as if I haven’t had ample opportunity,” said Corbin, grinning and cocking his head to one side.

 

Lauchlan laughed, though it may have come out a little hysterically.

 

“That’s, that’s actually what I want to talk about,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

 

“Biting? Lauchlan, of all people I didn’t expect that from you,” he growled, his voice swooping low, and he leaned back into the chair, his eyes dark and focused.

 

“Well, I, _well_. It’s, it’s this debt you see. Wouldn’t you rather, I mean, would you like to, to, get it over with,” he stuttered.

 

Corbin blinked, and his expression snapped shut again, suddenly nigh on unreadable. He didn’t look angry, but he was certainly not pleased, for that matter, Lauchlan had no idea what he _was_ feeling. The sheer blankness of that look was disturbing.

 

“Sorry, I, sorry that’s not, not how I wanted to say that. I mean, it’s just that, I think about it, all the time. And I want to, I don’t know how to say it. It’s just always there, on my mind, and you’re here, and I want to, to, finish it, repay it, you understand?” he stuttered helplessly, his words tripping over eachother, clumsy and unwieldy, his stomach was twisting into knots as he felt equal parts humiliated and hopeful.

 

Corbin’s expression twisted, though it was no less unreadable, and he drew back, sitting up straighter and drawing his legs together.

 

“You know, if you want it done, we can just call it done. No need to suffer for my sake,” he said, gruffly. There was something stilted about his voice, his cadence different, sharper, though Lauchlan had no idea what it meant.

 

“I don’t, want, I mean, I do want, this, _that_ , whatever it’s called. I, you deserve it and I, I want, I want this, done. I mean, I _want_ to do it,” he stuttered. His heart was hammering, it’s rhythm pounding in his ears, and he fidgeted, wringing his hands together, aching to reach out and touch. He’d wanted to say this differently, wanted it to come out differently, wanted to express the longing in him, the warmth of the feelings he didn’t feel brave enough to voice aloud, but the words were out now, even if they weren’t the word’s he’d wanted, there was no taking them back, no way to start over.

 

Corbin drew in a deep breath, the sound of it loud in the quiet of the room, and silence drew out between them for a long moment, before Corbin’s exhale finally broke it, the breath shuddering and tense.

 

“You want this done, now? Right now?” he asked, gesturing to the settee they both sat on, as if he meant to do it on someone else’s settee, or something like that.

 

Lauchlan looked up, his cheeks flaming, and met Corbin’s eyes again.

 

“I, ah, maybe? Would you like, would that be alright?” he asked.

 

“What’s brought this on exactly?” Corbin asked, cocking his head to one side, though his expression remained blank.

 

“Well, you’ve been very kind to me, and, well, I’ve been thinking, about it, a lot. Especially with you, being here so often. I keep thinking maybe _this_ week you’ll ask for it, but you never do, and, I, I wish you would. I’d be nice to, to not have to wonder. I’m sorry, I’m not saying this, the way I wanted to say this. I’m not sure I know how,” Lauchlan stuttered, splaying his hands helplessly.

 

“You want it over and done with, is that what you mean?”

 

“I well, yes, but, I want to. I just, want to, if, you’d let me,” he stuttered.

 

Corbin stared at him for a moment, his head cocked, his eyes dark and fathomless, and then he shifted, leaning back against the arm of the settee, and extending his arm out toward.

 

“Come here,” he said, raising his palm toward him.

 

Lauchlan did gasp then, his heart racing, and willed himself to move. He leaned in, shifting along the settee, and Corbin looped his arm around his shoulders, cradling the back of his head in his palm. Lauchlan sighed, a pleased shudder passing through him at the tenderness of the gesture, and leaned in closer still, cuddling up against him and cupped his jaw in his palm. His cheeks were warm, and his skin was soft beneath his bristles. He took a deep, steadying breath, and leaned in close, his eye fluttering shut of it’s own volition as he met his lips with his.

 

The kiss was warm and soft, and he tasted not sweet, like he remembered him, now without the sugar to sweeten his lips, but of something mellow, and warm and distinctly _Corbin_. Corbin held him close, his fingers massaging his scalp gently. His lips were soft and yielding, though his bristles scraped against his own clean-shaven skin, pricking at him. It took Lauchlan a moment to remember what to do with his face, he knocked their noses together once or twice before he remembered to tilt his head, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do about the whole tongue bit, whether to wait for Corbin to initiate it or to just dive on in, but then Corbin shifted, leaning back against the arm of the settee and pulled Lauchlan along with him, till he was all but lying on top of him. Lauchlan gasped, then, heat flooding through him at the heady sensation of having Corbin _underneath_ him, his chest swelling with breath beneath his own, the warmth of his body against him, his arms around him. Lauchlan had to abandon his cheek, so warm and soft beneath his hand, to brace himself against the settee, his knees had gone so weak he was afraid he’d flop down ontop of him and smother him otherwise, and Corbin responded by arching up, and wriggling one leg up and bracing it against the opposite arm of the settee, laying himself out flat on the seat.

 

Corbin’s grip tightened, tugging at his hair, and the kiss deepened, Corbin demanding and Lauchlan giving all he could and more. He was breathless, and weak kneed and gasping, his head spinning in lazy circles as he melted into the pleasure of it, of Corbin’s body, warm and soft and firm arching up against him, of his hands on him, touching him. It was as lovely as he remembered and yet more, so much more, he felt his heart was fit to burst, and arousal thrummed low through him. He could feel it pooling in his belly, coiling tight, his manhood was twitching into awareness.

 

Corbin drew back, caught his lip between his teeth and tugged gently. Lauchlan gasped then, and Corbin chuckled, flopping back to rest his head upon the cushions, a lazy grin on his lips.

 

“Corbin, oh, _Corbin_ ,” Lauchlan uttered, shuddering at the intensity of his look, and he chased him down, pressing a furtive peck against his stubbed cheek. The feeling of his raspy bristles was strange, but not unpleasant, and he pressed a few more against his cheekbones and jaw, his confidence growing.

 

He reached down with his free hand, and spread his fingers wide across his chest, the wool of his pullover soft and smooth from wear, his body warm and solid beneath it. Lauchlan wondered how it would feel beneath his fingers, if the forest of hair he remembered would be soft or rasping and wiry like his stubble, if his muscles would be as strong and as firm as he liked to think. He shuddered then, remembering how solid he had felt in his arms. Maybe, well, this was his chance, wasn’t it? He swept his hand down and grasped at the hem of the woollen garment, and tugged it free of his waistband.

 

Corbin shifted suddenly, the hand on his nape released, sliding down his neck to press upon his sternum and pushed him firmly upward and away. Lauchlan startled, breaking from his kisses and rocking swiftly upright, nearly overbalancing and sliding off his perch.

 

“What is it? D-did I do something wrong?” he gasped.

 

Corbin took a moment to compose himself, his lips were kiss reddened and his cheeks flushed. He wet his lips, before propping himself up on his elbows.

 

“Are you really sure that you want to do that here? In the open?” he asked, one eyebrow raised, he nudged his head toward the hall door, pointedly.

 

“I, well, yes? I thought, you wanted to. The doors are all bared, and the shutters, and, and besides the fires aren’t lit upstairs, it’ll be chilly, and, and, well, I’m mucking this up aren’t I?” Lauchlan stuttered, mortified.

 

“You’re fine. I just wanted to be sure,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, and looking down at his lap.

 

“Oh, well, alright,” Lauchlan sighed, his heart fluttering in relief. He relaxed, bending down again to be closer to him again. “Actually, while we’re talking, maybe, I, well, I was hoping you might, talk me through this, a bit. I’m not entirely sure how to, do it,” he stuttered, his cheeks burning.

 

“Surely it speaks for itself?” Corbin chuckled.

 

“Not really, no,” Lauchlan muttered, embarrassment joining the arousal squirming through his gut.

 

Corbin’s expression softened, and he cupped his face and kissed him, a chaste peck on his cheek. It was soft but it ached so deeply, squirming deep into the cockles off his heart and lodging there. Lauchlan’s breath hitched, as that tender little kiss burned through him, and he all but melted into the softness of his touch.

 

“Look, you don’t have to do this, you know, it’s fine,” Corbin said, his voice low, the words so soft, yet he could feel them, his breath ghosting over his cheek, gentle and warm.

 

“Corbin, you, you deserve this, I’m ready for this, please,” he muttered.

 

Corbin’s breath hitched, and he held it for a long moment before he let it go, hissing slowly through his teeth.

 

“ _Shite_ , well, alright,” he said, the expletive hushed in an uncharacteristic show of modesty. “Look, it’s not complicated. So long as you don’t bite it or choke on it it’s hard to get wrong. Just do whatever feels, comfortable for you, I suppose. Can’t ask for any more than that,” he said.

 

Lauchlan felt his cheeks flare up again. Choke on it, he’d said, Lauchlan hadn’t considered _that_ before, but now, now he definitely was. He wasn’t sure if it was arousing or mortifying. It could just as easily be both, all things being equal.

 

He wet his lips nervously, and traced his eyes down his body, eying the sliver of pale skin that peaked out from his rumpled shirts, dark wisps of curly hair poking out from beneath it here and there. Biting his lip self-consciously, he reached for it again, sliding his hand beneath the garments to touch him properly.

 

His skin was hot to touch, and _oh,_ his hair did feel soft, the wispy curls rolling beneath his fingertips as he reached around his waist, untucking the garments completely and hitching them up a little, exposing a large band of lovely stomach. His chest felt taught with corded muscle, though not without a layer of gentle softness in between muscle and skin, and the hair was _everywhere_ , though it was at it’s thickest in black trail that ran down the centre of his torso, dipping beneath his fly.

 

Lauchlan swallowed, his tongue felt thick and unwieldy in his mouth, which was growing dryer by the moment. Corbin was staring at him, waiting for him to do something, he wasn’t looking at his face but Lauchlan could tell, he could feel his eyes on him. He stayed like that for a moment, Corbin’s body hot beneath his hand, his chest rising and falling in fluttering breaths as Lauchlan gathered his nerve.

 

He was hard now. He hadn’t noticed it as it was happening but it was certainly making itself known now, his arousal hot and throbbing, swelling as much as his trousers would allow it to, his cock straining against the fly. It was that heady throb of want that compelled him to move, rather than his trembling nerves.

 

He slid off the edge of the settee, settling on his knees on the floor, he tugged Corbin’s legs gently, pulling him down off the settee so he could sit between his splayed thighs. He planted on hand on Corbin’s knee, partly for his own support, and party just to touch him, and leaned down toward him again, pressing a kiss to that trail of hair. He smelled warm and masculine, a little like sweat, a little like woodsmoke, a little like clean laundry and borax, and a lot like _Corbin_. His eye fluttered shut as he pressed kisses across his skin, following the contours of his body downward.

 

Corbin’s breath hitched, then, the muscles of his torso tensing beneath his kiss, and he made an odd, half formed sound that Lauchlan didn’t know what to make of.

 

Lauchlan sighed, his own arousal aching, and with his free hand he stroked up Corbin’s inner thigh, remembering how lovely that had felt done to him. He followed the thrumming, heated trail of his femoral artery up the length of his leg, his muscles tense beneath his fingers as he traveled up toward his crotch. His fingers itched, his palms sweating, and he cupped his manhood gently through the fabric. It felt cooler than the thrumming heat of his thigh had been, and, soft.

 

Lauchlan blinked, finally looking, properly looking, at what he was doing, instead of being so enraptured by the little trail of hair he’d been so busy nuzzling, and realized that Corbin, wasn’t aroused, at all, he was flaccid in his hand. How, how the hell had he failed to notice that? How had he botched it so completely that Corbin had been getting nothing out of this at all and he hadn’t even noticed?

 

“Corbin? Am I, have I done something wrong? Am, am I going too quickly, or, or-“

 

“Lauchlan you’re _fine._ It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s _fine_ , _”_ Corbin barked, cutting him off midsentence.

 

Lauchlan jerked up, blinking in shock at him. Corbin, he swore, he’d looked so lovely a minute ago, content in his element, but now, he was gritting his teeth, and though he was grinning it was forced and misshapen. Could, could he had been reading this entire situation completely wrong? Corbin’s flush could just as easily be from embarrassment as desire, his placidity out of apathy rather than contentment. Maybe he’d had a bad day, a bad week even, god knew Lauchlan had had a few of those recently. Maybe he just didn’t want sex right now and Lauchlan had gone and pushed it on him anyway. Maybe all his insistences at knowing if he was sure was his way of trying to say that _he_ wasn’t. Lauchlan was making a mess of this all over again.

 

“Corbin, is, is this a bad time? I, I can-“

 

“Lauchlan it’s _fine._ I, just need, a bit longer is all,” he said, patting his shoulder, and stretching that malformed grin wider.

 

“Well, then, would you like me to, ah, keep on going? Or, s-something else?” he stuttered, his cheeks hot. He squeezed Corbin gently, to try and communicate his point.

 

“That, this, this is fine,” Corbin said, his voice strained, and that false smile strained further still.

 

Lauchlan wet his lips, heaving a fortifying breath, and turned his attentions back to the matter at hand. He scooted a little closer, nestling himself in between his thighs, and kissed that stretch of stomach again. He cupped Corbin still, though he shifted his grip, holding him gently from beneath, rather than above, propping him up a little, and kissed him there, too, his scent heady and masculine, even through the fabric. Corbin made a strangled sound deep in his throat, and again, Lauchlan wasn’t sure if he should be encouraged or not.

 

He held him there, gently cupping the weight of his masculinity in hand, and with his free hand began to unthread the buttons of his fly. Corbin’s breath quickened, and though Lauchlan nuzzled him again, breathing in the scent of him and pressing more kisses against what he was reasonably sure was the head of his cock, he was as soft as before. He threaded the last of the buttons loose, and reverently peeled back the fabric, tucking his smallclothes down to get him free.

 

He’d never got a close look at another man’s cock before. Oh, certainly, he was well acquainted with his own, and he’d seen Corbin’s before, but, never quite like this. He was circumcised, he’d known that, but now he had a better look at him, he realized that it had been done poorly, there was still a slight fold of wrinkled skin left behind. While he was soft, still, it was dark in colour, flushed, and he took that as a good sign. Pausing, a moment, breathing deeply to steel his nerves, he bent his head again, and pressed a tentative kiss to the head of him. A little peck at first, then another, softer, more lingering one. The smell was so much stronger now than it had been, and he tasted, well, like skin, and yet somehow more, heady, musky, and powerful. Lauchlan took him in hand, mindful of his fingernails, and stroked him gently. Still nothing, though Corbin made another indecipherable noise.

 

He just, he just had to put it in his mouth, it shouldn’t be as intimidating as it was, but, well, when he’d imagined it he’d imagined Corbin being _aroused_ first. That he’d be at least a little pleased by the proceedings, that he’d, talk to him, encourage him, tell him what to do, what he liked. Not, that he’d sit there, gripping the cushions in a white knuckled grip and making a face like he’d swallowed something foul but was determined not to make a fuss about it.

 

Corbin, had said he’d needed a little longer. Maybe, maybe this was a problem, he had, and Lauchlan was just making it worse by drawing attention to it and making him feel self-conscious. That happened to men sometimes, didn’t it? Or maybe he was just, terrible at this and Corbin didn’t want to tell him. Maybe Corbin just wasn’t attracted to him anymore.

 

He shut his eye and drew a deep breath, inhaling the musky scent of him, running his thoughts about in circles was doing no one any good, he, he just had to do _something_.

 

He kissed him again, once, twice and then, parted his lips around the head of him, drawing him into his mouth, sucking gently in a manner he hoped was arousing. It was a strange sensation, to say the least, perversely reminiscent of eating a cream horn, though, the taste of him was anything but. He hadn’t the foggiest clue of what to do about his teeth, god knew the scrape of incisors against his cock would not be pleasant but he couldn’t exactly make them go away, at least, not in any manner that would leave him ready for this particular activity, leaving him mouthing at him without much clue of what to do about it. He lapped at the head of him with his tongue, stroking at the rest of him with his free hand, but, still, nothing.

 

This couldn’t be pleasant for Corbin. If it was they would hardly be in this situation. He drew back, rocking onto his heels and looking up at his face again. He’d screwed his eyes shut, the flush had run out of his cheeks and there was sweat on his brow, and Lauchlan doubted it was from arousal, or anything pleasant.

 

“Corbin, are, are you alright?” he asked, his voice trembling.

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” he snapped, his eyes flying open again and his grip on the cushions tightening.

 

“But, Corbin, you’ve gone pale, and you’re sweating,” he said.

 

Corbin’s eyes widened, and he raised a hand to his forehead, dabbing at the moisture in disbelief.

 

“Corbin, I, if I’ve done something wrong, you can tell me, I don’t want to, to hurt you. I hate, I hate seeing you like this,” he pleaded.

 

“I told you, it’s fine,” Corbin snapped.

 

“Corbin, the whole point of this is, is for me to, is for me to repay you,” he muttered, fumbling for the words, “I, I want, to make this, make it up to you, make this good for you. I don’t want to see you like this,” he stuttered. He released Corbin’s manhood, and rubbed both his hands up and down the lengths of his thighs in a manner he hoped was soothing. “I just wanted, I just don’t want to see you like this, please.”

 

“It’s fine,” Corbin said. But, Lauchlan was sure that he was lying through his teeth. Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong and Lauchlan didn’t know what the hell to do, what he’d _done_ to ruin something so important.

 

He bit his lip, stricken as indecision, guilt, embarrassment and desire roiled together in his gut, an incomprehensible muddle. He, he couldn’t just keep doing this, pretending it was fine. It wasn’t fine. Corbin wasn’t fine. Nothing about this situation was fine. This was the last thing he’d wanted, the last thing he’d expected and he hadn’t the foggiest clue what to do to make this better.

 

Corbin looked so pained, certainly, he had that grin stretched taught across his face, straining to hide something, and Lauchlan did not think it could be anything but revulsion. He’d ruined this. He’d pushed too hard, come on too quickly and ruined it.

 

Lauchlan rose up, and wound his arms around him, cradling him close. He tucked his face beneath Corbin’s chin, and he fit there so perfectly it was if he was made to fit there, and breathed in the scent of him, savouring it while he had the chance. He might not have another after this spectacular failure.

 

“Corbin, please, you don’t, you don’t have to put up with this. Y-you don’t have to pretend you’re alright when you’re not. I just, I just wanted to, to, I didn’t want this. You don’t have to put up with me if you, if you don’t want me,” he muttered, throat tight and uncooperative, the words croaking as they came.

 

Lauchlan could feel Corbin’s heartbeat, a rapid, fluttering rhythm, and he tensed beneath the embrace, his breaths deep and deliberate, in, hold, one two three, out, hold, one two three, in. Corbin was trying to calm himself down. Lauchlan had used the trick himself, enough to know it. He drew back, suddenly feeling unentitled to the gentle embrace, and sat back on his heels, his hands folded nervously across his lap, fiddling with his shirt sleeves to keep them from straying back to him again.

 

“I’m, I’m sorry I, I didn’t, mean to impose, or any such thing, I just, I wanted, oh, I don’t even _know,”_ he croaked, shaking his head helplessly. He had imagined a number of ways this could have gone, but, not this, never like this. He didn’t know where to begin unpicking the mess he’d made.

 

“Alright, you know what, I’m not, I can’t, I’m not doing this,” Corbin snapped. He rose up to his feet and tucked himself back into his trousers, buttoning up his fly with one hand and tucking his shirttails back in with the other. “I’ll go.”

 

“No, Corbin, wait, please, I, you don’t need to go. We, we can just, you can stay, please,” Lauchlan pleaded, stumbling ungainly to his feet, both his shins half asleep and rife with pins and needles. By the time he managed to get up, Corbin had already begun crossing the room, making for the door in long, purposeful strides, his back ramrod straight and his face set into a blank expression, and while he tensed at Lauchlan’s pleading, he kept on walking.

 

Lauchlan stumbled after him, knocking into the coffee table on his way out into the hall. Corbin had shoved his hat onto his head, and was shrugging on his overcoat in sharp, hard tugs that seemed uncharacteristic of him, he was usually so careful with his belongings.

 

“Corbin, please, could, could you wait, just a moment? I, we, we should talk about this, not, not do anything rash,” Lauchlan pleaded. He reached out to touch his shoulder, but Corbin physically flinched, his shoulders hunched and his head low, and Lauchlan’s heart ached at the sight of him so. He never wanted anyone to look at him like that.

 

“No, I’ve done enough. I need to go,” said Corbin, staring at some point over his shoulder and turning his back to him.

 

“But, but, why? Corbin, I don’t, I don’t hold it against you I’d never, it’s not your fault, you, you don’t need to go,” he begged, his heart in his mouth.

 

“I do!” he shouted, and he span around on his heel, spittle flying from his mouth, his shoulders squared and his fists clenched at his sides.

 

Lauchlan stepped back in shock, and he held his hands up unsure if Corbin was going to round on him or run.

 

For a moment, he actually though Corbin was going to do something violent, he’d never seen Corbin like that, and it chilled him deeply his arousal well and truly extinguished now. After a moment, Corbin seemed to realize himself, and the fire died, his fists relaxing, his shoulders loosening, he stepped back, the anger sloughing off of him and leaving only hollow agitation behind. He blinked, once slowly, then again, in rapid succession, and covered his mouth with his hand. He made an odd sound in his throat, then shut his eyes, shook his head, and pulled his hand away, sweeping his bristles into some kind of order as he did.

 

“I, I’ve done enough, alright. This, this has gone on for far too long as it is,” he muttered.

 

Lauchlan went cold, his heart sank, cowering somewhere deep in his gut. That, he couldn’t mean that, he couldn’t mean _that_. Not because of this, not because of him.

 

“Corbin, you don’t, you can’t mean that,” he begged, his throat threatening to close over the words.

 

“Why not?” Corbin barked, his eyes narrowing.

 

“Corbin you can’t, this, this is. Please don’t say things like that,” he croaked, his hands outstretched pleadingly as he took a step nearer to him, closing the space between them.

 

“Why? Isn’t this what you wanted? Get it over and done with so you don’t have to think about it anymore? It’s over, alright? You don’t have to think about it now, it’s done,” he sneered, a bitter smile stretching across his face. He reached for the handle and Lauchlan acted on sheer instinct, rushing forward, and pushing his weight against the door, his hands either side of Corbin’s head.

 

“No! No I didn’t want that! I didn’t want that at all, I just wanted _you!_ ”

 

Something in Corbin faltered, then, his sneer falling off his face, his eyes widening, his mouth twitching, his features falling slack as the cogs turned inside, reaching some conclusion, fathomless emotion welling up and spilling out across his face. He tried to lean back, away from him, but only found the wood of the door, and he swallowed, his adams apple bobbing.

 

“Lauchlan, let me out,” he said, his tone flat, voice steady and calm, as if he were talking to a misbehaving lapdog.

 

Lauchlan flinched, his grip on the wood tightening, every bone in his body screamed at him to hold his ground and keep him there. If he let him out he might not come back, he might not see him again, he might not even get to tell him. He had to say it, now, just out and say it. He might stay if he said it but when he opened his mouth the words wouldn’t come.

 

“Lauchlan, open the door,” Corbin said, his voice dipping low in warning.

 

Lauchlan forced himself to obey, though every fibre of his being was screaming at him not to. He tried to speak, but found that the power had left him all together, his throat dry and tight, his tongue heavy and useless as a lump of lead in his mouth. He stepped back, wringing his trembling hands, his nails biting into his palms as he clutched onto himself.

 

Corbin turned and opened the door, the cold rush of air and clamour of sound hit the both of them like a wave, and Lauchlan shrank back, hyperaware of how unusual their closeness would look to passers by.

 

“Lauchlan, I’m sorry, alright. But, this isn’t,” Corbin paused, and moistened his lips, and Lauchlan was sure, that for a brief moment, that Corbin would change his mind, that he would stay, that he would wait, but then he turned away from him, “I have to go,” he said, and then he was gone.

 

Lauchlan stood, staring at the door for the better part of a minute, his nails biting into his palms. It swung in the breeze, the latch striking against the frame, till he tired of the noise and grasped it, slamming it shut and locking it closed. He drew in a deep breath, then a few more, and forced himself to turn away, his fool heart was urging him to open it and run after him, consequences be damned.

 

He shoved his hands into his armpits, sparing his palms, and clutched onto himself feebly as he turned his back to the door and retreated back inside.

 

The crib board had been left forgotten on the table, the pegs still marking out the score of a game they’d never finish, their hands laid face down on the table to keep their place, there tea unfinished, the pot still steaming, the sweets untouched. He choked on his breath, his emotions threatening to undo him, then and there, and collapsed onto the settee. God help him, it was still warm. It had no right to remember, no right to hold that last ghost of Corbin’s presence when he was gone. He was gone and he wasn’t coming back.

 

He reached out, gathering up the cards and piling them back into a deck. He didn’t want to look at them anymore. Didn’t want them to just sit there like they were just going to pick them up and play again when they weren’t. The ribbon fell from the table in his haste, and he fumbled for it under the legs of the settee. By the time he grasped it and brought it back up, his emotions had gained the upper hand.

 

He paused then, breathing deeply, and in his attempt to calm himself, he clutched that little bit of fabric, and truly noticed it for the first time.

 

The ribbon might have been a rich velvet at one point, but the fabric was so faded and worn that it could have been anything. It was a light, creamy colour though he suspected it might have been yellow originally, before time had faded it. Corbin had used it to tie up his deck for so long that it bore the indents of the cards, and of the knot used to tie it kinked permanently into the soft fabric. He wove it between his fingers, in and out, admiring how soft it was. It was an odd thing, for Corbin to have. It wasn’t a parcel ribbon, rather, it was sort of thing a woman might use to tie her hair. His Mother had ribbons like these, embroidered with little patterns, flowers usually. He raised his hand to his face, the fabric soft against his cheek, and it smelled like Corbin, like Sundays and contentment.

 

He sobbed, holding the little bit of fabric to his face, breathing in the smell of him, feeling the softness of it against his skin and remembering.

 

Vagabond came up to him, pawing at his thigh and mewling to him. He pulled her onto his lap, and held her close. She bristled, but did not try to squirm away, and he stroked her from her ears to her haunches, over and over, the repetitive motion soothing, as was the thrumming of her purr, and though he couldn’t stem the tears, it did help.

 

“I thought, I thought I knew this time,” he said.

 

Vagabond said nothing in reply, but she listened. That was more than most would do.

 

“I’m a fool, aren’t I? I always manage to ruin things,” he scoffed, laughing bitterly at himself. Vagabond said nothing, but she headbutted him beneath his chin, and he scratched her obligingly, cuddling her close to his chest, tucking his knees p on the cushions.

 

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, who he was apologizing to, but the words came from his lips all the same. “I’m so sorry.”

 

He stayed there with Vagabond for the better part of an hour, gushing nonsense to her, and sobbing like a fool. She fell asleep, at some point, and left him talking to the air.

 

“I love him,” he said, as Vagabond snoozed obliviously on his lap.

 

It was sad, pathetic really, he’d thought, he’d thought he’d had time. Thought he’d be able to say it. Thought, that Corbin would, well, he didn’t know what he’d do, but he thought he’d get to say it first.

 

“I love him. W-why is that so hard to say?” he asked. Vagabond kept on sleeping.

 

He held the ribbon up to his face again, and breathed deeply. It still smelled like him, but it offered little solace now. Neither it nor Vagabond could give him the answer.

 

Well and truly cried out, he picked up the deck of cards and tied them with the ribbon again. It felt, very final, but it was done. He picked up the crib board, took the pegs from their holes, and slid them beneath the ribbon, for safekeeping, and turned the little piece of wood over in his hands. It felt smooth and cool beneath his fingers, it had been varnished, and then that varnish had been worn down by years of handling. It had been loved, looked after, and treasured no less than the fine backgammon set he’d owned, no matter how simple a thing it was, how little its monetary worth. Someone had loved this little bit of wood. Looked after it, treated it with care and consideration.

 

Corbin would miss it.

 

It was such a small thing, so simple, but, that tore at him. He’d never wanted to take anything from him, never wanted to be remembered this way, as the man who took from him, demanded too much and gave too little.

 

He hadn’t even told him.

 

He shouldn’t have been so selfish. Shouldn’t have demanded when the point was to give. He should have told him first, before any of this. Should have just, gathered up his courage it and said the damn words.

 

“I-I love him,” he said, gripping that little bit of wood tight. “I love him,” he said again. Vagabond stirred then, and looked up at him drowsily, hers eyes half closed.

 

He couldn’t ruin this, he couldn’t. He’d come too far, done too much, he couldn’t just, forget. He couldn’t just let it end like this. Maybe he was wrong, but he had to try, he had to do something, he couldn’t just give up, couldn’t just let it lie in ruins without trying to _fix_ it. He’d never be able to forgive himself.

 

He had to tell him. Debt be damned, he had to go and tell him. It’s not as if he could make this situation any worse. He’d hit rock bottom as it was. He could sit here weeping at the bottom, or, he could claw his way back up. He’d done it once before. This couldn’t be too different.

 

It was worth a try, at least and he was sure that Corbin would want this back, if nothing else.

 

He lifted Vagabond off his lap, and gently set her down on the cushion beside him. She wriggled out of his grip before he could pull his hands away, and leapt up on the arm of the settee, glaring at him, her ears twitching.

 

He got up, cleaned his face, pulled on his boots, his gloves and his greatcoat, and tucked the cards and the crib board safely into one of his inner pockets.

 

He stepped out onto the street, the rush of cool night air the only thing to greet him, and breathed deeply. The sun had long since set, and the streets were quiet, lights were dimming and winking out as people settled into bed for the night. Doubt stirred in him then, quite rational fears for once, it was dangerous in Coalford at night, waiting till morning would be better, but he stamped the doubts back down. He wouldn’t risk losing his nerve, and he didn’t want to let it fester away any longer than it had to, and with that resolve beating in his breast, he set out for Coalford Crossing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very nearly called “It Takes Two to Tango” but apparently the Tango didn’t become a prominent dance culture until the 1880’s, which would be right in MBWLAYWGS’s ballpark if not for the fact that it was born in Argentina, and took years to make it’s way through the Americas and over to Europe, so there’s no way that the phrase would have existed in English parlance. I never set out to have complete historic accuracy, but for some reason that really bothered me, so there you go. 
> 
> I wasn’t sure how to tag Corbin’s “issue” I tried searching for a few different tags, but they all seemed to centre around the issue being an object of fetish, or humour, which really isn’t what I’m going for here. I don’t want to squick anyone, but I just wasn’t sure how to handle it without being misleading. I’m open to suggestions, if anyone has any.
> 
> I don’t know how I feel about the transition from their little dinner date to the cribbage game. I wrote the cribbage part first, as it was the first idea I had, then added the date on last, and I think it really shows. Not sure how I feel about it but I’ve fiddled with it a tonne and I think this the best I can do for now, anything else tends too lean into being too waffly and mooning or even more abrupt than it is now. Hopefully it wasn’t too jarring for you.
> 
> Thankyou to everyone who left kudos and commented, I really appreciate it :)


	17. Come Hell or High Water

His doubts dogged his heels as he travelled toward Coalford, and though he clung to his resolve they grew stronger yet. The chill was biting, the night was dark and the air was heavy with smog that grew thicker the further he went. The lamplighter had made his rounds faithfully, but there was only so much the flames could do in the face of the night’s gloom. He didn’t dare catch a cab, he didn’t want to be recognised by his peers, not with where he was going, and any independent cabbie would hear the word Coalford and double the fare. So he walked, and the night grew darker, the streets more and more foreboding, and the chill wormed into him, feeding the doubts.

 

Coalford was dreary enough by day, but by night it was positively sinister. Many of the streetlamps had been vandalised, their glass shattered, leaving the flames to gutter in the wind, the posts bent and corroded, some were completely gone, and only a precious few held a flame still. As he crossed over the bridge, the waters inky black beneath him, he was struck by just how dark it was. There was smoke rising from the stacks, or at least it certainly smelled like it, and those few, surviving lampposts were guttering and winking, but by and large, the district was black as pitch. So many buildings were boarded up, their lights swallowed up, or just, abandoned all together. It was like walking into a ruin, though, that wasn’t far from the truth, all told.

 

He was regretting his decision more with each and every step he took, but it was too late to go back. He shifted his billfold and keys into his inner pockets all the same, and clutched his coat tight around him.

 

The air smelled foul in Coalford, he had not noticed it before, with the snow deep and fresh on the ground, smothering it out, but now they were thawed, the streets stank of urine and rot. Many people opted to fling their garbage out into the street it seemed, and the deeper he went, the more he had to pick his way around the filth, the middens pilled high with bones, ashes, and god knew what. He was sure that excrement made up a portion, but he couldn’t tell for sure in the dark. He rather preferred it that way.

 

Though the streets were devoid of horses or other vehicles, they were far from deserted, not as they had been during the day. He could hear footsteps, loud voices coming from the dark, boarded buildings, and in the alleyways he could see figures moving about in the shadows. Mostly women, it appeared, if only by the occasional flash and flap of a skirt as they slipped through the dark. They were likely out working, and Lauchlan couldn’t help but feel ill at ease with the thought. He knew about Coalford’s reputation, and he knew desperation, knew just how easy it could be to fall into that kind of poverty, and while it made him deeply uncomfortable, he could understand that sometimes, that was the only option left. It didn’t mean he was ready to be confronted with the reality of it though, didn’t mean he could be surrounded by that kind of reality and be all right.

 

It scared him, honestly. He knew it was foolish, knew it was hardly their fault but, it did. He didn’t even know why he was afraid, they were hardly going to hurt him, what would the point be? But, he didn’t want to be here, anymore, didn’t want anyone to see him here and associate him with _that_ , didn’t want to be confronted with that, but it was too late to go back.

 

He couldn’t go back, he wouldn’t. He’d come this far, and he had too much to lose.

 

But still, there were, others here, sailors from the dock, wandering around with a drunkards stagger and leering grins plastered across their faces, crowing and calling in the night, Suddenly materializing out of the out of the gloom and then melting back as the lamplight guttered. They passed like phantoms, slipping in and out of the sparse islands of light, darting in and out of the foreboding side streets without a care, while he crept along, his hands clutched close to his body, darting between those little havens of light. He must’ve made quite a sight scurrying about like a frightened animal, but he was too afraid to care.

 

Every alley could conceal a mugger, or worse. It wouldn’t take much for him to take a wrong turn and disappear forever, and though he knew he was being foolish, he was too scared to risk it. Too nervous to quiet the paranoid fantasies.

 

The walk from the bridge to the crossroads of Halburne and Boatswain was not far, all things considered, and it was likely that it was one of the best kept roads in Coalford, but, he jumped, flinched and twitched the whole way through. He startled at every shadow, and shied away from every sound, be it a lady of the night wandering about, or the scurrying of rats or other feral animals that roamed under the cover of darkness. It was honestly hard for him to tell one from the other in the gloom.

 

He sighed aloud in relief, when the crossroads loomed ahead. Corbin’s apothecary was a dark, the drapes drawn and the lights out, the lampposts flame extinguished, but it was unmistakable all the same. The glass of the windows winked and glittered, a rare sight, this deep in, and he jogged up to the door, his shoulders sagging in relief.

 

He pushed at the shop door, then pulled, but it merely rattled in the frame. It was locked, of course it was locked, why would he be open so late in the evening, after everything that had happened tonight? Lauchlan sighed and rubbed his forehead, cursing himself for his foolishness. He walked back along to the shop front and peered in through the window, his hands cupped alongside his face, but he could see nothing but the dark inside. There were no lights lit, no movement, no Corbin. Not much point in knocking, then. Lauchlan sighed, and nervously crept around to the little side alley where the back entrance was.

 

It was pitch black, and he crept tensely down, one hand on the wall to keep himself from tripping over the boxes and other debris that were left there, and though he stumbled several times, he managed to keep his footing. He felt the frame of the door before he saw it, his eye not yet adjusted to the dark. He felt around for some kind of knocker or a bellpull, but could find nothing. He rapped his knuckles against the door, but the thick hardwood absorbed much of the sound, and though he waited, no one came.

 

He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself down. This, this wasn’t the end of the world. Corbin was just asleep was all. This was definitely the right building and definitely the right door. He was not going to be assaulted and die in the blind alley, that was ridiculous, and he refused to entertain the notion. Though, it did niggle at him.

 

He knocked, again, loud as he could, but the result was the same. Getting desperate, he tried the handle, and it squeaked and rattled, the door shuddering in the frame. Lauchlan frowned, and tried it again. It refused to turn, the lock holding fast, but the handle itself was loose in the bracket, rattling back and forth. He put his shoulder to the door, and rattled at it, and the door groaned beneath his weight, the handle creaking and shifting to the left a little. He pushed harder, and pulled at the handle, tilting it to the left as far as he could, and with an almighty lurch, the door gave, and he stumbled blindly into the hallway.

 

He caught himself against the wall, huffing from exertion, and took a moment to get his bearings. It was just as dark inside as out, but, it smelled like Corbin, and as his eye adjusted, he could pick out familiar features inside.

 

But, it couldn’t have been that easy. It shouldn’t have been. He remembered that bloody door, it was built like a vault, he should never have been able to get in here by force. But he had.

 

Biting his lip, worriedly, he turned back to the door, and tried to shut it, but the latch was still in the locked position, making it difficult to push shut. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but when he felt along the doorframe, he found that the strike had been pulled free from the frame, the hardwood splintered and bare, and the latch itself was pulling away from the door. No wonder it had been so easy to open it, there was barely anything holding it in place. He fumbled for the bolts, but found that the lower of them was missing, not broken, but completely gone, the housing torn away from the door. The upper bolt had faired a little better, the housing was still in place, though it was mangled, and the bolt itself had snapped halfway down, leaving it too short to be much good for anything.

 

Someone had kicked his door in.

 

His stomach sank, trembling in fear, and he felt his heartrate ratchet up, thumping in his throat. Someone had broken in here, and it must’ve been recently, Corbin would never have left his house in this state. What if someone had broken in while he had been with him? What if Corbin had returned only to find his home ransacked, or worse? What if he was in trouble up there? The burglar might still have been in there, what if Corbin had interrupted them, and they had lashed out, and struck him down. Corbin could be hurt, up there, or, or, god almighty he didn’t even want to consider what else!

 

Lauchlan abandoned the door and hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time. God, he didn’t think he could stand it if something happened to Corbin, if he’d been hurt because of him, because he’d been with him. He didn’t know what he’d do with himself, just the thought was horrible enough.

 

He reached the top of the staircase and hurried down the hall, almost tripping over his own feet in the dark. He ran his hand along the wall to steady himself, and tried the handle of the first door he found, shouldering his way hastily inside. Rather than Corbin’s cramped little bedroom, it was some kind of storeroom, the floor littered with boxes and the walls lined with shelves, and a workbench was dimly visible at the far end of the room.

 

He caught himself against the doorframe before he could stumble into the cluttered room, briefly disorientated. He must’ve taken a wrong turn. He stepped back, intending to turn, but before his heel could so much as touch the floorboards he heard a distinctive creak. He froze, his heart in his mouth, suddenly paralysed by fear. Someone was behind him. It could have been a mouse, a rat or at least he told himself that to steady his nerves, but then, he heard it again, an ever so slight creaking of the floorboards somewhere in the pitch black darkness of his right hand side, and all he could say was for certain was that it was not him. He felt his hair stand on end, his heart race, and he carefully stepped away from the doorway, turning slowly around.

 

He could scarcely see, the hallway darker even that the street outside, but before he could cry out, something dark cut through the air, and it hit him, colours flashing behind his eyelids as his skull exploded with pain. The pain was a familiar pain, crashing at the back of his skull, like the ground as it had rushed up to meet him all those years ago, his vision flaring with white where no white belonged, the colours bright and dancing. Now, though, he pitched forward, the floorboards looming close, his body a feathery, far off thing he could feel but not control as he tumbled like a marionette cut free from its strings. The skirting board caught his temple, or maybe, he caught the skirting board _with_ his temple, he wasn’t sure, but it hurt, he wasn’t sure which, or why, or how but it hurt, everything hurt, the world was wobbling, his vision spotty, the ground heaving and keeling beneath him, his body sluggish, his limbs uncooperative as he tried to draw them beneath him. He couldn’t get up, and the pain seemed somehow so very far away, and yet it was right there with him, hounding his thoughts and running the reason right out of his head, trickling away like the blood he could feel running through his hair, down his neck, and into his collar.

 

“This ain’t an easy mark burglar. I thought I made that clear the first time,” Corbin growled. Lauchlan would know the sound of his voice anywhere, even now, and he whimpered weakly. The sound hurt. The words hurt. _Everything_ hurt. He didn’t want it to be like this. He loved Corbin, he’d never steal from him. He wasn’t a thief, he wasn’t. He struggled to crawl upright and explain himself, but his body would not obey him, his tongue thick and unwieldy in his mouth.

 

“Oi, Did I hit you too hard or do you need another to drill things into your thick skull, I am not going to, oh, oh god, Lauchlan, _no!”_

Suddenly Corbin was kneeling beside him, or perhaps above him, Lauchlan was having trouble telling up from down. He touched his face, tipping it up toward him. Something heavy clattered to the ground, and Corbin brushed against his wounded temple with the other hand, his fingers came away wet with blood.

 

“Lauchlan, _Lauchlan_ , what are you doing here? Why are you, oh god, okay, you need to get up, _now_ ,” he said, and he reached beneath him, gripping him by his armpits and heaving him upright.

 

Lauchlan’s limbs still weren’t cooperating, but he had the wherewithal to pitch his weight one way or another, and with Corbin pulling the strings he managed to slump against the wall, his legs splayed out in front of him, his head hanging low, Corbin’s hand on his torso the only thing keeping him from falling forward again. Corbin cupped the back of his skull with his free hand, and brushed his hair away, gasping sharply at sight of the wound there. Lauchlan whimpered at the pain in his scalp, but could do little about it but reach up and cling to Corbin’s hand with the little strength he had left.

 

“Lauchlan, please, I need to get you into a bed, can you get up?”

 

“Nghh, nah, no, d’zzy,” he tried to speak, but the words came out as an indecipherable jumble, even to his own ears. Each syllable felt inexplicably difficult to grasp, and they slurred together. He held on weakly, Corbin’s hand strong and steady between his own.

 

“Okay, oh _shite, okay._ I’m just, I’ve got to fetch something. You just, stay upright. You can do that right?”

 

“Du’n go,” Lauchlan pleaded, clutching his hand tight. The world was spinning, wobbling around him, and somewhere, something was making a scraping, high pitched whine that grated at his pounding head. Corbin was the only fixed point in the shifting quagmire of the world.

 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, he squeezed his hand once, but then he was gone.

 

Lauchlan whined, his head hurt, chest hurt, and he wanted to throw up, not that he had much in him to be thrown. He tipped forwards, his head between his knees, and blood trickled down the side of his face, running down his jaw and dripping onto the floorboards. There was a wrought iron fire poker lying on the bare floor, its spaded tip painted red, fine hairs clinging to the congealing liquid. He vomited, unable to contain the urge any longer, spilling his guts where he sat.

 

He sat there for a few long quaking moments, the bile burning his nostrils, and Corbin returned, and swore loudly at the sight of him. He lay a thick woollen blanket out on the floor, and rolled Lauchlan onto it. He groaned at the motion, grateful to be lying down again. Corbin said something, but it was lost to the quagmire, and he picked up the corners of the blanket and dragged him down the hallway.

 

The movement made his queasiness worse, and it was a struggle not to submit to his nausea again as he was moved, a struggle to stay conscious at all. He couldn’t attest to the length of the journey, but he was hauled bodily into Corbin’s bedroom. He’d dragged the thin horsehair mattress onto the floor, along with the blankets and pillows, and he was dumped near it. Corbin collapsed onto the bare bedframe, panting from exertion.

 

Lauchlan tried to get up again, but his limbs trembled at the effort, and it was hard to tell up from down. He managed to right himself a little, sitting on his haunches with his head hung low. He’d started pitching forward, but Corbin caught him by his shoulders, supporting him as he was laid down on his side, and wedged pillows beneath his head.

 

“Th’nk‘ou,” he murmured. The world wasn’t as wobbly when he was lying down. It shimmered still, but at least he had a decent idea of what and where the floor was.

 

Corbin made an odd croaking noise in the back of his throat, and it hurt like a knife thrust in between his ears. Corbin must’ve noticed his distress, because he hushed immediately, and instead reached down, and cupped his cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb against his cheekbone before he rose, and fled the room again.

 

He sat there, queasy as the world osculated around him, clinging to the mattress just for something to cling to, his gut rolling with the motions. Again Corbin returned, his face grim, but so resolute that it made Lauchlan feel silly for worrying, and pressed a cloth to his head, cool and soft to the touch. Though it stung, Lauchlan bit his tongue and bore it. It was well worth it to feel his touch again.

 

Corbin cleaned his wounds, first with water, then with carbolic soap. Lauchlan would recognize the smell of it anywhere, and it soothed him, past the sting of it. He smeared the wounds with some kind of liniment that smelled terrible and felt even worse, stinging so badly that it brought him to tears, and then bandaged his head with a linen cloth.

 

“Say something, Lauchlan please,” he said, his voice hushed, but still, much, much too loud.

 

“The noise hurts,” he said, whimpering at the sound of his own voice.

 

Corbin’s expression twisted, caught someplace between worry and disgust, but held his tongue. Silently, he reached to a bottle at his side, and pulled the cork from it. The bitter scent of potent spirits and opium flooded the room, and Lauchlan quailed.

 

It was laudanum, he hated laudanum, hated it, hated it, hated it. It made him sick, made him asleep and wide awake all at once, had given him nightmares about the black, had made him all but useless as the black had consumed him.

 

“No laudanum!” he snapped, curling in on himself as the sound stabbed home.

 

“You’re hurt Lauchlan, you’re in pain,” he whispered, and drew a silver measure spoon from his pocket.

 

“No! No please, no, promise me no laudanum, promise me, please,” he whimpered, the hot tears finally falling as the noise carved out a place in his hammering skull.

 

Corbin’s resolve crumpled, and he dropped the spoon and corked the bottle in one swift motion, and pressed the cloth to his cheek again, dapping away the tears.

 

“Alright, I promise, no laudanum, but you must take something for me,” he said, a little frantic, but mercifully soft.

 

“No brandy,” he said.

 

“No brandy either. Stay still, I’ll be back,” he said, and dabbed his face clean with the cloth, and pushed the basin of water within his reach before leaving him again.

 

This time, he could not bear to keep himself awake for his return. He did not fall asleep so much as wakefulness fell out from beneath him, and he was swallowed by the unconsciousness that filled the void it left.

 

Corbin jostled him awake again sometime later. He’d been propped up, and cold water splashed on his face, Corbin’s face creased in worry. He hadn’t the lucidity to do much more than groan, but Corbin pressed a cup to his lips, and he drank. True to his word, it was neither laudanum nor brandy, but something that tasted acrid and powdery. He drained the cup in slow measured sips, Corbin silently encouraging him by rubbing circles round his back, and he manage to drain most of it, before he slipped off again.

 

He dropped in and out of consciousness for a while, his head pounding, his body aching, and he had vivid dreams that made no sense at all, just colourful shapes and ringing noise. They were frightening, but he couldn’t tell rightly why. He woke often, his head pounding and covered in sweat, but could not hold on to consciousness for very long, a few minutes at most. He felt unfathomably tired, but, he did not want to sleep. He had, something important to do, something important to say, but, everything was just so muddled now. When he did wake, Corbin was with him, running a cool cloth over his face, or just sitting beside him, his hand resting on his shoulder, grounding him to reality.

 

It was lighter now, lamplight pushing back the dark. Consciousness wobbled again into reach and he grasped at it, blinking rapidly as he struggled to draw the world back into focus.

 

Corbin was slumped against the naked bedframe beside him, dead asleep. He was leaning to one side, one arm propping him up on the bedframe and cushioning his head, the other arm dangling down. His head was tipped to one side, bent at an uncomfortable looking angle. Lauchlan could hear him snoring, softly, and to his immense relief, found that the sound did not hurt as it had before.

 

He tried to get up, pulling his arms beneath him. He felt shaky and weak all over, but, he felt better than before, and managed to sit upright, only to then be assaulted with a rush of vertigo. The world shuddered around him, twisting and ringing, and he lost his balance, and crumpled back down to the mattress as the world span dizzyingly about him.

 

Corbin jolted awake, exclaiming sharply as he shot upright and jarred his neck. Lauchlan could hear it crack, and winced in sympathy.

 

“Corbin?” he croaked, his throat raw.

 

“You’re awake?” he said, groaning a little and rubbing his neck. He fumbled a little, scrabbling to get his legs back underneath him, and came to kneel beside him. He ran a hand along his hairline, pushing his hair out of his eye.

 

“Are you alright?” Lauchlan asked. He reached up, his hand waving through the air ineffectually before he managed to cup his hand in his, feeling the warmth of his skin. It soothed him, quieting the ringing sound that echoed through his head.

 

“Am I, am _I_ alright?” Corbin scoffed, his eyebrows raised, “you, god almightly, only you Lauchlan, only you could ask me that at a time like this,” he said, his voice croaking, and he shook his head at him, rubbing his forehead with his hand.

 

Lauchlan blushed, and pulled his hand back, inordinately embarrassed. Corbin sighed, and reached back for the cloth again, ringed it out and dabbed it against his forehead.

 

“Nevermind me. How are you feeling?”

 

“My head hurts,” he croaked, “I’m dizzy, I can’t get up, the world won’t stop _moving_.”

 

“I’m assuming that’s something of an understatement, there,” Corbin said, croaking out a single, strained bark of laughter. “Here, let me help you.”

 

Corbin cradled his head, and helped him to roll, gently on to his back, and put his shoulder beneath his own and held him steady as he rose upright again. The vertigo came again, but with Corbin to cling to, he managed not to succumb to it again. Corbin wedged a few cushions behind him to prop him up, he rode out the worst of it holding Corbin’s hand.

 

He hadn’t realised up till now, but Corbin had taken off his, coat, boots, and gloves, and laid a blanket over his lap. He didn’t feel chilly, but, the thought was nice.

 

“Here, you should try and sip this, if you can,” Corbin said, and eased a metal bowl into his hands.

 

Lauchlan did as he was told, and though he feared to have embarrassed himself, spilling water down his chin, he managed it. He hadn’t realised just how thirsty he’d been until the cool broth hit his tongue. It was smooth going down, and it tasted of honey and mint, soothing his bile burned throat. He gulped it, thirstily, but Corbin pulled the bowl back after a moment.

 

“Easy, easy! You don’t want to make yourself sick again,” Corbin reprimanded.

 

“Sorry,” Lauchlan muttered, meekly.

 

Corbin sighed, and let the bowl go.

 

“Don’t be sorry. Please, please, don’t be sorry. You don’t need to be. You shouldn’t be,” Corbin said, softly.

 

Lauchlan very nearly apologised out of habit. He bit the apology back, but he wasn’t sure of what else to do.

 

“Alright,” he said, blindly hoping that it was the right thing to say.

 

Corbin sighed, but said no more, and Lauchlan sipped the broth, as he’d been told.

 

“You’ve been drifting in and out for a few hours now. Do you remember anything?” Corbin said, he pinched the bridge of his nose, hiding his expression behind his hand.

 

“No,” Lauchlan said, frowning. All he remembered was his uneasy sleep, he wasn’t sure if anything had happened in the past few hours to warrant remembering.

 

Corbin sighed, and studied the floorboards for a few moments.

 

“You were muttering in your sleep. It sounded like you were having nightmares. I was worried you were getting a fever, but, your temperature didn’t spike as much as I feared it would. Are you sure that you don’t want something stronger for the pain?” he asked, still staring at the floorboards, twisting a lock of his hair through his fingers.

 

“I, I feel a lot better now. I’m just, dizzy. Did, what did I say, exactly?” he asked, he still felt very sore, his head ached and his ears rung, but, he wasn’t about to say that aloud. What could Corbin give him but laudanum? He’d rather just ache.

 

“I couldn’t make much out, you were pretty incoherent. But you sounded, scared,” Corbin said, and he sighed, and wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees.

“I’m better, now,” he said, consolingly.

 

Corbin snorted, and buried his face in his hands.

 

His breaths were deep and shaking, and Lauchlan’s heart ached to see him so. He hadn’t meant to cause all this, he’d just wanted to tell him. Maybe it was selfish of him, to want that, to muscle that last word in, but he could never have foreseen this.

 

He lifted the bowl to his lips again, and drained the last few mouthfuls of broth. He tried to set the bowl down gently, but his hands were still unsteady and it clattered against the floorboards. Corbin peered back up from under his hands, his expression softening as he uncurled himself, and stilled the bowl.

 

“Finished, huh? How do you feel, nauseous still?” he asked, crawling closer, and laid a hand on his forehead again.

 

“A little. I think that might be the vertigo, though,” Lauchlan said.

 

Corbin hummed, his lips thinned, and drew his hand back. “Let’s lay you down again then, that ought to help.”

 

Lauchlan let Corbin manoeuvre him around again, still too disorientated to be of much use on his own, and true to his word, it did feel better to be laying down.

 

“Corbin, could, could you do something for me?” he asked.

 

“Of course, what do you need?” Corbin said, hastily, perking up like a dog at the dinner bell.

 

“Lay down. If you sit up all night like that, you’re going to hurt your back again,” he muttered. His stomach was still doing lazy laps around his ribcage but it was settling now, and he just felt, aching, and weary. So very, very weary.

 

Corbin swallowed, his eyes downcast, but he did as Lauchlan asked, laying down on his back. Lauchlan reached out, and clasped one of his hands again, and pulled it close, cradling it against his chest.

 

“Lauchlan, what, what are you doing?” Corbin asked, turning toward him.

 

“I, I need, to tell you something, don’t want you to run away again,” he said. He’d admit it was rather selfish of him, Corbin’s hand felt warm and steady in his own, and it grounded him, soothing his pounding head.

 

“I’m not going anywhere, Lauchlan. Not, not after that,” Corbin sighed. He rolled onto one side, facing him, and patted his hand gently.

 

Lauchlan had never seen Corbin look so utterly exhausted before then. His skin had a sallow pallor to it, his eyes bloodshot and burdened with deep, grey bags. He refused to look him in the eye, staring a something somehow through him, his expression well past the point of anxiety and into despair. Would, saying that, now, telling him that really help? Lauchlan wasn’t thinking straight, wasn’t sure, anymore, if this was the right thing to do, if this was the right time. He had already taken advantage once tonight, he didn’t want to do it again. Would Corbin even believe him, in the state he was in? Would he want to hear it at all? Lauchlan, doubted it would help. It could well make everything worse, again. What had he been thinking? Damn his addled brain.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

 

Corbin winced, and he sighed, covering his face with his hand as he gathered himself. He took a moment, and then reached out to him again, cupping his face gently in his hand, and setting him with a pitying look.

 

“You’re still confused, aren’t you?” he sighed, his stricken expression softening. “You ought to get some rest,” he said, and tried to pull away, but Lauchlan held fast, tugging his hand closer to his chest.

 

“Could, could, I hold you, please?” he asked. He had no idea why he’d asked that, but it just came out, and he could hardly take it back.

 

“What? Hold me? Why, why would you want to do that?” Corbin spluttered, taken aback. There had to be irony in that, in finally managing to surprise him, now of all times.

 

“It, it makes me feel better,” he said, he tried to shrug, forgetting that he was laying down, and only managed to look a little sheepish and plenty silly. He certainly felt as much.

 

Corbin swallowed audibly, and stared at him for a moment his eyes wide, the corner of his lip trembling ever so slightly, but then he schooled his expression again, and crawled close, tucking his head beneath Lauchlan’s, chin, and throwing his arm up around his waist.

 

Lauchlan sighed, and held him close, breathing in the scent of him. It, it did feel better, having his warmth against him, his body in his arms. The ache was there but, the comforting weight of his body against his own took away the bite from it.

 

“Get some rest, Lauchlan, you’ll feel better in the morning,” Corbin muttered, his voice muffled.

 

Lauchlan hummed in acknowledgment, and obeyed.

 

When he woke the second time, Corbin was gone. It was a little disorientating, slipping off with his body safe and warm in his arms and waking without him. Corbin had laid more blankets over him, and slipped a lumpy pillow beneath his arm as a pitifully inadequate substitute. Lauchlan took a moment to gather himself, clutching the pillow close. Morning had broken, though it was darker now. The drapes were drawn shut, and the lamps had burned out. The sun peaked in, through the moth holes and frayed seams, but did little to lift the gloom. He rose, first on his stomach, and then sitting, and to his immense relief found himself coordinated enough to sit up on his own, and more importantly, stay sitting up. He rubbed his face weakly, blinking away the sleep, and was relieved to find that Corbin had left his patch in place. His head ached, still, a continuous, thrumming ache, but, it did feel better than the splitting pain of before. Corbin had been right in that regard. His temple throbbed, and when he lifted his hand to touch it, found it swaddled in linen, but beneath was distinct lump, easily the size of a hens egg, and he could feel the split skin throb with heat. The first blow, from the poker was likewise swaddled, and though the gash was long and painful, it was not so swollen as the second, which offered some relief at least.

 

His bladder was begging him for his attention, and his mouth felt dry and spongy, like cotton. He unwound the blankets from around himself, and gathered them, leaving them folded neatly by his bedside, and climbed shakily to his feet, leaning on the bedframe for support.

 

His head span, vertigo rushing through him, his limbs flaring alive with pins and needles, and he leaned against the wall for support. He waited several minutes, but it showed no sign of stopping. His stomach churned sluggishly, the remembered taste of bile cloying on the back of his tongue. He groaned, softly holding his stomach. It would probably be best to lie down again, but he could hardly just lay there and soil himself. He braced himself against the wall just in case his faculties abandoned him again, and gingerly pawed his way around the edge of the room, eventually stepping out into the hallway.

 

He had not expected to find Corbin there, but there he was. He was dishevelled, his hair a mess, and he had stripped down to nothing but a pair of natty woollen trousers, threadbare and fraying at the hems, and a stained undershirt. He was kneeling on the floor, a bucket of soapy water by his side, and was scrubbing at the floorboards with a bristle brush. Lauchlan leaned against the doorframe taking a moment to get his breath back, his head still swimming a little, his stomach threatening to uprise should he open his mouth.

 

Corbin was working with a fervour Lauchlan had never seen in him before, scouring the wooden floorboards so hard that the boards creaked and groaned beneath the pressure. The floor looked well past clean, the water washed off clear and the wood was clean and shining, but Corbin showed no sign of stopping. He just kept going, repeating the same motions over and over, his shoulders hunched over and his movements harsh and rough as he scrubbed at that same patch of flooring over and over again. Lauchlan could hear his breathing, the breaths shallow and wheezing, as if he were breathing through his teeth.

 

“You’re going to scrub the varnish right off,” Lauchlan said, more than a little worried for him.

 

Corbin snapped around, his eyes wide and blood shot, and clambered to his feet, the brush clattering to the floor, abandoned. He wiped his face with the heels of his palms, sniffing deeply to clear his sinuses, and rushed over to him.

 

“Lauchlan, you’re up! You’re white as a sheet, you shouldn’t be up and about just yet, you should sit down before you do yourself an injury,” he said, his face fraught with worry as he leaned up on his toes to press his hand to his forehead, and squeezed his elbow with the other.

 

“I need to go, Corbin,” he muttered, weakly.

 

Corbin tutted, and lifted his arm up and ducked beneath it in one quick motion, supporting his weight as he steered him back into the bedroom.

 

“I don’t think you’re in a fit state to go anywhere just yet, not by yourself. You could collapse again,” he said, and set him down him gently in one of the wing backed chairs in front of the fireplace, the embers still aglow in the hearth.

 

Lauchlan let himself be manhandled, honestly grateful to be seated again. The world stilled a little, his stomach settling. Perhaps it was a bit too soon to be upright.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” he sighed, and settled back into the chair.

 

Corbin went a little pink in the cheeks as he caught his meaning, and he stepped back, crossing his arms behind his back.

 

“Ah, well, I’ll fetch you a pot, or something. Hold tight,” he muttered, and rushed off, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

 

Lauchlan put his head in his hands, and rubbed at his eyelids wearily. He did feel better, but if he so much as moved a little too quickly the whole world lurched beneath him. He put his feet up on the hearth, which helped, and tried not to think about throwing up.

 

True to his word, Corbin returned a minute later with a tin bucket and a warm, dampened washcloth, and left him alone to take care of business. Lauchlan relieved himself and tried to clean himself up a little before calling Corbin back.

 

“I might need to keep this, I don’t think I can hold my stomach,” he groaned, and Corbin laid a comforting hand in his back, rubbing in gentle circles.

 

“I’ll go wash it out, god knows the smell can’t be helping,” Corbin said, and stayed a moment patting him a few more times before he hustled off with it again.

 

Lauchlan propped his legs up on the seat, and put his head down between his knees, which seemed to help. It, at least, managed to tide him over while Corbin returned with the cleaned bucket, and ceramic tray. He nudged the bucket down between his feet, then pulled the low coffee table close to his left hand side, and set the tray down on it. It held a chipped stoneware teapot with a mismatched mug, a plate that held a few slices of dry, wholemeal toast, and small glass medicine bottle, stoppered with cork.

 

Corbin poured a cup from the teapot, the liquid was orange and sharp smelling, and he poured in a pinch of some kind of powder from the bottle. He pushed the mug close to his elbow, and set the toast down beside it.

 

“If you feel up to it, try and sip a little of this. It doesn’t taste the best, but it ought to help settle your stomach a bit. Eat something, when you can, you lost your dinner last night, you need the sustenance,” he said, and started rubbing his back again.

 

“Alright, “ Lauchlan sighed, and leaned into his touch, his eye sliding closed. They stayed like that for a while, Corbin’s steady hands a soothing distraction.

 

Corbin put the mug in his hands after a while, and he sipped it as he’d been told. It tasted bitter, and strangely hot, a little like ginger, but smoother going down. He couldn’t bring himself to drink the whole mug, not before it went cold, but, it did seem to help a little. He didn’t vomit it up again, at least.

 

“Corbin, could you tell me the time?” he asked. He knew it was daytime, so sometime after nine, but with the drapes drawn shut and the lack of any sort of timepiece on display, he felt rather disorientated by it all, his internal clock thrown well and truly off.

 

“Around half past eleven,” Corbin replied.

 

Lauchlan gulped dry, unsettled by the realization. He hadn’t slept in that late, since, well, he couldn’t remember. He wasn’t entirely sure if he ever had. He would have lost his job for certain had he done that at the estate.

 

Oh, lord, his job. He’d completely forgotten about it. They’d be expecting him to turn up on time at five tomorrow, they needed him to. He couldn’t work like this. He could barely cross the room on his own, let alone walk back home. But he didn’t have much choice, did he? He was the one in charge of the daily operations. He was the only one on shift with gate keys for god’s sake, he had to be there, or no one could get anything done.

 

“Corbin, I have to go back,” he croaked, and struggled upright, only for Corbin to plant a hand firmly on his sternum and push him back into the seat.

 

“You can’t, go back, Lauchlan, not by yourself! You’re hurt, you’re sick, you could be robbed blind or worse. You need _rest_ ,” he backed, stepping over the bucket to stand in front of him, his hands on his hips.

 

“But, I can’t miss work, Corbin. I have no apprentice, they need me there to unlock, or no one can work. I’ll lose my job if I’m not there, I can’t lose my job!” Lauchlan exclaimed, clasping his hands, as his heart thudded and his eyes wide with panic, his head threatening to split from the rush of pain that ratcheted through him.

 

“Lauchlan, listen to me, you’re not going to lose your job. I’ve got this sorted, alright? You’re going to be fine,” he said, emphatically.

 

“But Corbin-”

 

“No, Lauchlan, listen to me, I made this mess, I’ll clean it up. I’ve got it sorted out. I sent a telegram to the company office, I told them you were injured and need to recuperate. They sent one back, see, they’re going to have a man from another stable take over for a few days. You’re not going to lose your job,” he said, and reached into his back pocket, drawing out a folded yellow telegram slip. He flapped it open, and pushed it into Lauchlan’s hands.

 

Lauchlan scanned quickly through it. It was genuine, the address and addressee correct, the message one he’d expect from the higher ups, though laced with far more sympathy he had seen from them before.

 

“That’s, this, this is right. How, how could you possibly know that? I, I never gave you the offices address,” he asked, bewildered.

 

“I flagged down a hansom and asked where it was. They weren’t hard to find,” Corbin said, shrugging.

 

“Oh,” Lauchlan said, and handed the slip back. That was, deceptively simple. Lauchlan couldn’t say he’d ever think to do that, but, he didn’t exactly need to did he?

 

“I sent a wire to your neighbours, too, asked them to feed your cat. I haven’t heard back, but I imagine they got it. It’s going to be alright, I promise,” he said, gently pulling the telegram from his hands and setting it to the side. He slipped his own hand into Lauchlan’s own, crouching down to look him in the eye.

 

Lauchlan sighed, his heart slowing from it’s frantic pace as he calmed down. He’d even remembered Vagabond, Lauchlan hadn’t until that moment. God knew what that said about him. Trust Corbin to be three steps ahead of him. He cradled Corbin’s hands in his, holding them softly, the gratitude caught behind his tongue, so immense he couldn’t grasp it, couldn’t fathom any adequate means of voicing it. “I love you” was teetering to on the tip of his tongue, almost ready to tip outward, but he didn’t have the courage to give it the push it needed. Yet still it swelled in him, filled him, and he cradled his hands close to his heart.

 

Corbin winced, his fingers twitching in his own. Lauchlan looked down, seeing them properly and blanched at the state of them.

 

“Corbin, what happened to your hands?” he squawked, turning his palms over in his own.

 

His palms and fingers had been rough to begin with, but he had worked to the point that they had blistered. His right was worst off, his palm laden with angry sores that likewise littered the joints of his fingers and thumb. His left hand was a little better off, but his fingers were still in a sorry state, reddened and inflamed from overwork. His skin was blanched and scaling all over, and smelled of harsh chemical soaps.

 

Corbin tugged his back toward him, though Lauchlan kept his grip on his wrists and stared at them, his eyes wide.

 

“I’m, I’m not sure, I didn’t notice,” he said, his speech halting from shock.

 

“You didn’t _notice?_ What on earth were you doing? Corbin, this, this looks terrible, you should, you shouldn’t have,” Lauchlan’s outrage guttered, as he realised what had happened. When he’d got up, Corbin had been cleaning the floor, scouring at it so furiously Lauchlan was sure he’d do himself an injury, and it seemed that he had. How long must he have been toiling, to do this to himself? An hour? Two? Three? God knew, but, it didn’t even matter, really. However long he had, Lauchlan had still hurt him, _again_.

 

He bit his lip, stricken with guilt, and pulled his hands close. His right hand already bore a scar, thanks to him. A pale, pink gash, that split across his palm, shiny in the light. He sighed deeply, his lip quivering with barely restrained upset. He kept on doing this to Corbin. If he had just called his name, he could have avoided this entire situation, but he hadn’t, because that would have made too much sense, wouldn’t it? Instead he just kept doing this, kept putting Corbin through this, kept putting _himself_ through this. Why wouldn’t anything he did turn out the way he intended? They didn’t deserve this, they’d done nothing to warrant it, it just wasn’t fair.

 

“Lauchlan don’t, please,” Corbin said, he drew closer, cupping his face with his left hand, and rubbing at his cheek with his thumb. “It’s not your fault,” he said. Of course Corbin could tell what he was thinking, he always could see right through him.

 

Lauchlan ducked his head, shame hot on his cheeks. Corbin deserved better than this. He cradled Corbin’s hand in his, running his thumb over his knuckles. On an impulse, he pulled his hand close, and pressed a chaste kiss to his work worn knuckles. Corbin startled at that, his breath catching in his throat, his hands tensing. Lauchlan turned his hand over, and kissed the angry scar he’d left there, and pressed his cheek into his wounded palm, surrounding himself in Corbin’s warmth.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, the word a weak, fragile thing, completely inadequate, but he had nothing else to offer him. Nothing that wouldn’t make this worse.

 

“No, Lauchlan, no, don’t say that. Stop saying that!” Corbin croaked, Lauchlan blanched, and looked away, but Corbin tucked a hand under his chin and directed him up, making him look at him. “You didn’t, you don’t have to apologise. You shouldn’t! It isn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong, you, I, I hit you, Lauchlan. I did that,” he choked on his own words, and suddenly, he snatched himself away form Lauchlan. He was pacing back and forth in front of the fire, his arms crossed close against his chest, his face twisted and stricken. “I did that, alright _, I did!_ You shouldn’t be sorry. I should, I should be, I should,” he stammered, Lauchlan never expected to hear Corbin stammer like that, not in a hundred years. He reached out to him, but Corbin pulled away, and turned his back to him.

 

“This is my fault,” he said, and it carried the air of a mantra, “I, should be the one who’s sorry,” he said, and his chest heaved, and even from behind, Lauchlan could tell he was clutching himself tighter. He heard his breaths tremble, heard him swallow down the tears. Lauchlan’s heart ached, fit to bursting, and he struggled to his feet, the world swimming lazily, and staggered to him, taking him into his arms and holding him tight.

 

“It’s alright,” he murmured.

 

Corbin’s breaths hitched again, and his body trembled in his arms.

 

“But I _hit_ you,” he said, “Don’t you remember? I, I did that to you, this is _my_ _fault_ ,” he spat, self-loading lacing the words, his shoulders trembling with rage turned inward.

 

“I’ll be alright. I don’t blame you, it’s not your fault, either,” he murmured.

 

He realised a moment later that that was the wrong thing to say. Corbin shuddered, and he at once seemed to curl in on himself, his shoulders hunched, his arms clutched tight to his chest, his head hung low, and at first Lauchlan didn’t realise he was sobbing. Corbin cried quietly, his eyes screwed shut to stifle the tears, his lip bitten so harshly to stifle the sound, his grip on himself so tight that his shoulders trembled from the strain. It was his breathing that betrayed him, his breaths shuddering and quick, each far too shallow. It didn’t feel right, for Corbin to be like this, he wasn’t the kind of man to suffer in silence. This was something he’d learned, something he’d perfected, and Lauchlan’s heart ached to wonder why he had taught himself to cry so quietly.

 

“Corbin, I-“

 

Suddenly Corbin wheeled around in his arms, and he clung to him, his face buried in his woollen jumper.

 

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, “I swear, I didn’t realise, I didn’t know! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s alright,” he soothed, hugging him close, trying to comfort him as best he could. Corbin shuddered, trembling all over as he tried desperately to stifle the tears, stamping down any outward sign of emotion with everything he had, and still coming short of the mark. Lauchlan just held him. He didn’t know what else he could do.

 

“Corbin, I, I need to sit down again,” he said a few moments later. He still felt unsteady, his vertigo was growing progressively worse, and he was beginning to feel nauseous again.

 

Corbin jolted upright, his back straight, shoulder squared, and unwound himself, but that only made Lauchlan feel even more disorientated, and he swayed unsteadily, stepping backward blindly. Corbin swooped under his arm again, and Lauchlan groaned in gratitude as he lowered him back down into the chair.

 

Lauchlan thanked him, and Corbin winced at the sound of the word. It seemed that ‘thankyou’ had joined the ranks of ‘sorry,’ at least for the time being. God knew what Lauchlan was going to do about that.

 

Corbin hung back, his hands clenched behind his back, and he wouldn’t look Lauchlan in the eye, staring downcast into the hearth. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks damp, even after being hastily wiped dry. He just looked miserable, completely and utterly miserable, and Lauchlan didn’t know how to comfort him. That hurt, perhaps more than anything else. He wanted more than anything else to just comfort him, but, he was helpless.

 

“You should try to eat,” he muttered, still looking down, “It’ll help.”

 

Lauchlan had no notion of an appetite, but he didn’t want to make Corbin feel any worse, so he took a slice of toast, and nibbled it obligingly. It was cold now, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, and he managed to keep it down.

 

Corbin sighed, and sank into the other chair, his head in his hands.

 

“Why are you here?”

 

Lauchlan jolted at the sudden question, snapping up to meet Corbin’s eyes, but Corbin wasn’t looking at him.

 

Corbin didn’t sound angry, and he certainly didn’t look it. He was just exhausted.

 

“Do, do you have my coat, somewhere? It, it’s in the pocket,” he said, meekly. He, he didn’t want to say the real reason, it would only make this worse. Corbin was in such a state already, he couldn’t bear to put him though any smore.

 

Corbin cocked his head, confused, but he got up, and crossed the room to his wardrobe, and moved about inside. Lauchlan could not see what exactly he was doing, but, he knew Corbin had found it when the movements stopped, and the silence hung there for a long, pregnant minute.

 

“You left it behind,” Lauchlan said, “And, I didn’t want you to go, so I-I,” he stuttered, nervously, and stopped, breathing deeply to calm himself before starting again, “I didn’t want you to leave. I didn’t want to think I’d never, see you again, and I didn’t, I thought, it looked like it was important to you, and I didn’t want you to think that you’d never get it back because, because of what happened. So, I thought that, I would bring it. At least then, I’d get to see you, and, I wanted to, no. It doesn’t matter, it’s foolish,” he muttered, and stuffed a piece of toast into his mouth before he said too much.

 

Corbin was silent, his heavy breathing and the crunch of toast the only sounds. Corbin crossed the room quietly, the little crib board clutched to his chest like a child would a doll, and he stared intently at the floor. Lauchlan was glad to see that it had made it in one piece, but, Corbin’s silence was making him anxious.

 

“Corbin?” he asked.

 

Corbin flinched, then, his face folding in on itself, and he broke, quietly, softly.

 

“Corbin, please come here,” Lauchlan begged, holding out his arms, and to his relief Corbin came, falling into his arms and burying his face into the junction of between his neck and shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry,” Corbin murmured it like a prayer, his voice cracked and broken.

 

Lauchlan held him close, unsure of what else he could do, what else he could say, so he just held him, and hoped it was good enough.

 

Corbin quieted after a few minutes, but he did not pull away, and Lauchlan needed no excuse to hold him for a little longer, and cradled him close for as long as Corbin would let him.

 

He pulled away, eventually, that much could not be helped, the little crib board still held in his hand. He slid down, pushing the bucket aside to sit by his feet, his head hung low, his hands in his lap.

 

“There’s, something I should tell you, no, show you. Not now, but later, when you’re feeling up to moving around,” he said, softly.

 

Lauchlan leaned forward, squeezing his shoulder gently.

 

“If that’s what you want,” Lauchlan said.

 

Corbin sighed, and turned, leaning into his arm. He wiped his cheeks, and then clambered to his feet, setting the crib board carefully down on the table.

 

“It is. You should get some rest,” he said, and he leaned in, kissing him softly on his uninjured temple.

 

Lauchlan felt himself blush, and he turned toward him, finding comfort in the softness of his touch and in his familiar scent. He wished they could stay that way, just for a little longer.

 

“I’m going to mend that door before the bloody thing causes anymore trouble,” he said, his voice cracked a little, but he heaved a deep breath, and soldiered through it. “If you need me, just shout. I’ll be nearby. Try to rest,” he said, and he cupped his face, softly running his thumb along his cheekbone.

 

“I will,” Lauchlan replied.

 

Corbin nodded, but he did not leave, not at first, instead looking at the door, his expression twitching as he gathered the courage he needed. Lauchlan thought he was going to say something, but he left, all the same, his strides long and purposeful.

 

He listened to Corbin’s footsteps as they travelled down the hall, fading away, and he sighed.

 

“I love you,” he muttered, beneath his breath. His heart fluttered, and he felt his eye prickle from the urge to cry, but he held it back. There would be a time for that later, there was no point in dwelling on it then. So, he ate his toast, and let his heart comfort him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all a little psa. If you encounter a person with a head injury, do not do what Corbin does, at least in regard to manhandling Lauchlan around. Head injuries often come hand in hand with neck injuries, in a worst case scenario, neck injuries become permanent spinal injuries and moving a person can make that happen. If in doubt, call an emergency service line before you do anything, the operator will instruct you on what to do until an ambulance arrives.
> 
> Okay, now that’s over and done with, whoo boy. I’ve been so nervous about this chapter. I’m still rather anxious about it, to be honest. Unlike most others, this chapter has been planned out from the start, but, I don’t know. I’m worried that people won’t interpret it the way I mean it, but I don’t want to out and tell people the subtext because, then it wouldn’t be subtext, would it? I’m really unhappy with the end. I originally planned this to be conjoined with the next chapter, but, they didn’t flow right, so I split them fairly early in the planning stages, they work better separately, but, the chapter break is iffy. I’m terrible at ending chapters, it’s a big weakness of mine, and this ending feels particularly shoehorned and ham-fisted, but it’s the best I could come up with without going on an unnecessary thousand-word ramble. 
> 
> I hope you all found this chapter satisfying, and a big thankyou to everyone who commented and gave kudos. Each one makes my day :)


	18. Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop

Lauchlan spent much of the day resting. He nodded off in the chair by the fire for a while, and woke himself, dreary and stiff necked, and so returned to the mattress, falling back asleep almost before he could pull the blankets up to his neck. Corbin came to check on him every half hour or so, often bringing a fresh cup of tea or something light to nibble on, first more toast, then a few dried fruits, then arrowroot biscuits spread with apple butter. Lauchlan ate what he could, and he didn’t need much incentive to sleep. While his vertigo and nausea were calming down, he felt as exhausted as before, and without Corbin’s company to occupy him, he had little to do but think and nap.

 

His head ached still, but that ache quieted over the course of the day, though the lump on his temple and the gash on his nape still hurt, they were smaller hurts, rather than one singular pain that encompassed his entire skull. It was an improvement, if nothing else.

 

Corbin, true to his word, worked on fixing his door. Lauchlan awoke to the pounding of hammer on nail and the clatter of tools several times over the course of the afternoon, along with the occasional crash and foul mouthed exclamation, but the disturbances were brief, and he could usually return to his rest once he grew accustomed to the muffled noise. It was strange, but the longer he slept, the more tired he became, though his other aches and pains were slowly easing, so he was hardly about to stop. Perhaps it was an after affect of his headache abating at last, without the pain to keep him awake, there was nothing to keep him from sleeping anymore, and he slept most of the day away.

 

Corbin woke him gently, after the sun had set. He had lit the lamps, and thrown a fresh log onto the fire, brightening the room again.

 

“What time is it?” he groaned, rubbing at his eye.

 

“Around half past seven. I’ve got some soup on for supper, if you feel up to it,” he said, and smoothed a hand over his head, brushing his hair back. Lauchlan sat up, slowly, and stretched his arms in front of him.

 

“I think I’m feeling better now,” he said, Corbin smiled, and offered Lauchlan his hand as he clambered to his feet. He had a bout of vertigo as he rose, and he was still a little wobbly, but, the vertigo passed, and at least he didn’t feel as if he was about to be sick again.

 

Corbin held his elbow to support him, and helped him over to the chairs again.

 

“Aren’t we eating at the table?” Lauchlan asked, blearily.

 

“I don’t have a dining table, or a dining room for that matter. Normally I just eat in the kitchen, but I don’t think you should take the stairs down there. They’re a bit narrow, and you’re still,” he trailed off and shrugged, a guilty look on his face.

 

Lauchlan nodded in understanding. Corbin left, and returned a minute later with dinner laid out on a wooden tray. There were two ceramic bowls, filled to the brim with a green, leafy soup, a few slices of toast on plate, and a miserly lump of butter in a dish beside.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“Cabbage, potatoes, onion, and chicken stock. Mostly cabbage, though. I didn’t exactly plan on company, so I don’t have that many options right now,” he shrugged, sheepishly, and handed Lauchlan a bowl and spoon. “Would you like your toast plain, or buttered?”

 

“Buttered, please,” Lauchlan said. It was probably a bad idea, but he’d had more than enough dry toast for one day. He felt he could handle a little butter.

 

Corbin served him as he’d asked, and they ate in silence. Corbin wouldn’t look at him, instead, he stared steadfastly into his bowl, eating quickly, and quietly.

 

The soup was good, better than he’d expect from cabbage anyway. Cabbage soup had been little more than watery, cabbagey mush, in his experience, but this was better. Corbin had seasoned the broth with herbs, parsley and sage, if he guessed right. Corbin was a good cook, far better than Lauchlan at least, though that wasn’t hard. He wished he was in a better state to enjoy it with him. This might’ve been lovely, but as it was, he just felt guilty, sore, and tired.

 

Lauchlan ate slowly, as his stomach was still a little upset with him, and Corbin finished long before him. He didn’t leave, instead, he sat back and turned to face the fire, but he watched him out of the corner of his eye. It was a little unnerving, to be watched that way, and his already weak appetite waned.

 

“Corbin, what happened, to your door?” he asked. It was probably not the nicest topic to broach, but, he doubted Corbin would be soothed by small talk and idle prattle. And, well, he needed to know, just for his own sake.

 

Corbin sighed deeply, and pinched the bridge of his nose, but at least he turned to look at him.

 

“It was nothing serious,” he muttered.

 

“It didn’t look like nothing! Corbin, I was terrified I was going to find you dead on the floor, th-that’s not nothing,” he stuttered, his cheeks hot with embarrassment.

 

Corbin glanced up at him, his eyes widened in surprise, and he smiled, a small bittersweet smile, but a smile all the same.

 

“Didn’t know you worried about me so much,” he said, softly.

 

“You know me, I’m always worrying about something,” he shrugged, and chuckled weakly.

 

Corbin sobered, at that, the smile faded, and he fixed his eyes on the floor again.

 

“It really wasn’t that serious, just a couple of kids looking for opium. It’s hardly the first time I’ve had a break in. I get a couple attempts every year, mostly in winter, but they usually try through the glass at the front, or they try to jump the fence round the back, or they climb up the gutter and try to jimmy the shutters open. This is the first time someone actually got in,” he said shrugging sheepishly.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked, taken aback by the uncannily casual way Corbin spoke about people trying to _break into his home_. Lauchlan would have been shaken for days if such a thing had happened to him.

 

“I’m fine, really,” Corbin said, noticing Lauchlan’s incredulous look, “They were just kids, stupid, desperate kids, in it over their heads. I scared them off before they could get their hands on anything. It wasn’t like I didn’t notice their choice of entrance, after all. It wasn’t exactly subtle,” he sighed, and rubbed at his forehead. “I should’ve fixed that bloody thing days ago, but I just put it off. It was stupid of me,” he said, scolding himself.

 

“You couldn’t have known,” Lauchlan said, consolingly, but Corbin wasn’t having it.

 

“I _did_ know, I knew I was leaving myself wide open for another break in. I knew that clear as bloody day, and it lead to-“ he trailed off, and scowled, his teeth gritted in frustration, and shook his head as if to clear it. “It doesn’t matter anyway. There was no excuse for it, I knew better,” he sighed, and sank back into his chair, picking idly at a loose thread on the arm, twisting it around his fingers.

 

“So did I, Corbin. It was a mistake, it could have happened to anyone,” he pleaded. Bad enough he had to suffer for this, he didn’t want Corbin to blame himself. It would achieve nothing but to make him miserable, and Lauchlan hated seeing him like that, and knowing he was the cause of that made it all the worse.

 

Corbin scowled, and the thread snapped as he flexed his hands, clenching into fists, and the forcibly relaxing as he exhaled through his nose.

 

“Do you really believe that?” he asked, his face crumpled into a deep scowl.

 

“What do you mean? Of course I do,” Lauchlan said.

 

“But should you? Lauchlan, what if I lied? Has that ever occurred to you? You, you just let people walk all over you, you let them take advantage of you! What if it wasn’t an accident? What if I just did it because I could? Because I knew you would let me get away with it? What if-“

 

“Corbin stop it!” Lauchlan exclaimed, his chest tight, “Just, stop it, it, it’s not true. I know it’s not true, so shut it!”

 

Corbin stopped, his lips still parted, as if to deliver another absurd hypothetical, and he had risen in his seat, his hands braced against the arms, as if to push up to his feet. He blinked, several timed, and then timidly sat back, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously.

 

“Corbin, I know, I’m not exactly the most assertive man on earth. I, I know, sometimes, I can be sentimental, overly emotional at times. I know I’m not as observant as you are, b-but, that doesn’t make me weak, and it certainly doesn’t make me stupid,” he said.

 

Corbin’s eyes, widened, and his face flushed red.

 

“I didn’t mean that!” he said, his voice cracking.

 

“I know you didn’t mean it, but, you still said it,” Lauchlan said, his throat tight.

 

Corbin looked as if he was about to rebut him, but, he swallowed, and stared down at the floor again.

 

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he said, and he put his head in his hands, his fingers vanishing into his thick mop of curls.

 

“It’s alright,” Lauchlan sighed, he stirred the last few soggy strips of cabbage around his bowl. His appetite was gone, now, anyway.

 

Corbin stared up at him, his eyes moist and rimmed with red, his expression caught someplace between wonder and incredulity.

 

“You forgive far too easily,” he said, and shook his head gently.

 

“I don’t think so,” Lauchlan said, and shrugged. “Besides, don’t you want me to?”

 

Corbin stared at him, for a long moment, his brow creased, and then he broke his gaze, staring down at the floor again.

 

“I’m not sure if I know what I want anymore,” he said, and Lauchlan’s heart panged to hear him sound so small.

 

“I-is that why-”

 

“I don’t, want to talk about that right now,” Corbin snapped, cutting him off midsentence. His face was bright red, and he looked so stricken, Lauchlan regretted even thinking the question.

 

“Sorry,” he said, before he could think better of it.

 

Corbin sighed, and slid down into the chair, his hand over his face.

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he muttered.

 

Lauchlan didn’t ask him to elaborate, but, he had to admit, the admission was, a relief. He had worried, but, well, what did it matter now? It was hardly important anymore, and he doubted it ever would be again.

 

Things were going to be different, now. Both, because of yesterdays disaster, and, because of this one. He just didn’t know how, and that, scared him, but there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say. He just had to wait it out, and hope. But, god, what he wouldn’t do just to know what to say right now. He just wished that he could know, wanted Corbin to know, but, he didn’t feel strong enough for that. Corbin wasn’t in a good place, and he doubted that he’d react well, if just apologising was enough to upset him.

 

They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, Lauchlan fussing with his bowl to keep his hands occupied, Corbin half swallowed by his chair. The tension settled around them like fog, unsaid words strung out between them, demanding and distracting. Unexpectedly, it was Corbin who ceded to the tension first, rising from his chair, and loaded the dishes up onto the tray.

 

“You finished?” he asked, and Lauchlan nodded, and handed his bowl over sheepishly. Corbin frowned at the leftover food, but said nothing about it.

 

“You should get ready for bed, soon. I know you just got up, but, it is late, and you need the rest. I’m afraid I don’t have time to heat up enough water for a proper bath, but, if you want to clean yourself up a bit, I can at least get you a some soap and a basin,” he said.

 

Lauchlan spared a wistful thought to his bath at home, and smiled. He must have been spoiled a little, if the thought of a regular washing seemed so distasteful now. In all honestly, as grimy as he felt, he was too tired to really be bothered by it. The soup sat as a heavy, warm lump in his stomach, and it was making him feel drowsy already.

 

“I think I’d just like to go straight to bed, if that’s alright? I don’t want to bother you,” he said.

 

“You don’t bother me,” Corbin said, and he smiled, a little, “I think you’re steady enough now to put the mattress back on the bed, should be a bit more comfortable for you. I’ll be back in a tick,” he said, touching his shoulder and smiling, softly, before vanishing down stairs again.

 

Lauchlan swallowed, his throat dry, and sighed, raising a hand to rub his shoulder subconsciously, the soft warmth of his hand held like a ghost against his skin.

 

He and Corbin had touched each other more over these past few days that they had in months, since the hayloft, even. Had it been that long? Goodness, it had, hadn’t it? It had been two, three months, almost? How hadn’t he realised it had been so long? He’d become so wrapped up in the gloomy trudge of winter he had lost track of the weeks, but, winter wouldn’t last much longer. He counted the weeks back to that first night, in the hayloft together, and almost gasped at the realisation. It had been months, almost four months since that first drunken night together, and if he remembered the date right then, winter hadn’t long to last. March would come in scarcely two weeks, bringing the spring with it, with any luck. Now he thought back on it, he really ought to have noticed the signs sooner. Snow had been giving way to sleet and icy rain, and the earth was softening, the horses coming home with mud caked hooves again. How hadn’t he noticed how time had passed? He’d just, been so caught up in everything that had happened that he’d just, forgotten that the seasons would change, forgotten that the world would march on, with or without him.

 

He wasn’t ready for this time to end. He hated the winter, hated the cold, and yet, if it the spring meant the end of them, then he’d rather if it didn’t come.

 

How stupid was that, thinking he had any say in the matter? Spring would come, the thaw with it, it didn’t matter what he wanted, what he thought, it _would_ come. He was being sentimental again, letting his fancies addle his brain. Corbin would think it was foolish and self-centred, and useless.

 

But, even knowing that, it did not make the thoughts go away.

 

For all he had suffered these past few days, he didn’t regret it. Well, he did regret it, partly, he regretted not calling out, he regretted causing Corbin pain, regretted being so foolish as to get himself into this situation, but, he didn’t regret coming. He didn’t regret doing what he’d done, didn’t regret seeing Corbin just once, just, before the end, if it would be the end. He still didn’t know and he hoped beyond hope that it wouldn’t be. But, if it did, at least, he had this. It was better than the alternative.

 

He wobbled to his feet again, trembling like a lamb, and tried to tidy himself up, and least a little before Corbin returned. He straightened out his clothing, then straightened out the bed, picking up the sheets, shaking them out, and folding them neatly, before heaving the mattress back onto the frame and making it up again. It was the least he could do.

 

Corbin returned, later, looking freshly washed, and carrying the tray again, this time with a basin full of steaming water, a washcloth, and a few other bits and pieces. He set it down on the table, and then glanced up, noticing Lauchlan’s efforts, and smiled knowingly.

 

“Here, I know you said you were tired but at least clean your teeth before you hit the sack. This stuffs new, took it from stock, so,” he said, he stood there for a second, looking a little lost, hovering awkwardly as if he had something still to say, but he just shook his head, and turned to his wardrobe. He gathered up an armful of clothes, and nudged his head toward to door, “I’m going to wash up myself, shout if you need me,” he said, then trotted out again.

 

Lauchlan blushed, sharply. It had been a few days, with everything that had happened in between, and he didn’t want to imagine the sight he made. He must’ve looked like a tramp, smelled like one too. It was a wonder Corbin was putting up with him the way he’d been carrying on and on.

 

He turned to the tray, and did as he’d been told, brushed his teeth with the salts that had been laid out for him, and then stripped off and cleaned himself with the soap and the washcloth. He really was rather too tired to bathe properly, but he at least cleaned his face, his hands, and scrubbed the remains of sweat from his chest and his underarms. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing. He’d at least felt like a recently washed tramp, rather than the bog standard. His shirt and trousers were wrinkled beyond smoothing, and they smelled of stale sweat and smoke. On top of everything else, his shirt collar was specked with dried blood. He tried to sponge the blood out, but it was a lost cause. He flapped them out and hung them over the arm of the chair, hoping that a little airing would do them good. He doubted it could be salvaged, but, he’d need to wear them home. He’d never fit any of Corbin’s things, so as much as he loathed the idea, he didn’t exactly have any other options.

 

Satisfied he’d done all he really could at this point, he put his undershirt and small clothes back on, crawled back into bed, pulled the blankets up to his chin, and nuzzled into the pillow. It felt far softer with the mattress in the frame, and it smelled like Corbin. It was comforting, being surrounded by the smell of him and he quickly fell into a doze, waiting for Corbin to return.

 

Corbin crept in, a few minutes later, pushing the door gently closed behind him, and padded lightly to the fireside. He was dressed in a baggy woollen nightshirt that went to his ankles, the hem looked heavy and thick, as if it had been put up several inches, as it had likely been made for a far larger man, and he carried a thick bundle of blankets in his arms. He set the blankets down on the arm of the chair, and quietly padded over to a small box tucked away in the back of his wardrobe, and with a dull clink, withdrew a squared glass bottle and a squat metal cup.

 

The glass was thick and cloudy, cheaply made, and the bottle conspicuously lacked any kind of label or seal. He pulled the cork stopper with a muffled pop, and poured himself a measure, the alcohol gleaming in the firelight. The spirit looked fine, sunny coloured, and thick like honey. The scent of it was faintly sweet and heady in the air.

 

Lauchlan sat up, drowsily, the headboard creaked and Corbin’s head snapped around at the sound.

 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” he muttered, and hastily shoved the bottle back in its box.

 

“It’s alright,” he muttered, sleep mussed. “You joining me?” he asked, unsure if he should wait for him to come and spare being woken up later.

 

“In a minute, I’m just, having a bit of a nightcap is all,” he muttered, and he held out the cup to him, tilting it to show it that it held only a scarce ration of spirits, barely enough to fill a third of the tiny cup.

 

“It’s whiskey. Bathtub whiskey, granted, but it’s not a bad drop. Don’t worry, I’m only having the one finger, I’m not about to get sloshed on you,” he said, pulling the cup back.

 

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Lauchlan blurted, holding out his hands. “I can hardly blame you, really. It’s been, a trying day today,” he sighed. He couldn’t fault Corbin for having one little drink after a day like today. Had Lauchlan been in his shoes, he’d be tempted.

 

“Oh, well, alright then. Usually I’d offer, but, I don’t think that would be the best idea for you right now,” he said, his face creased with guilt.

 

“It’s alright, I’ve never cared for spirits,” Lauchlan said, shrugging, and he laid down again, pulling the blankets back up as he did.

 

He watched Corbin as he drank. The fire cast him in silhouette, the soft light casting a hazy halo around him. He drank slowly, measuring each sip like the drink was his last, and when he drained the cup dry, he held it beneath his nose and breathed in the scent of it, savouring even that last sensation. Lauchlan couldn’t help but find his self-imposed rationing depressing, he hoped it wasn’t because of him, although, the alternative wasn’t much more cheerful. Perhaps, when all this was over, he’d buy a bottle or two. Corbin might object to Lauchlan just giving it to him, but, if they ever had their games again, Lauchlan could always offer him a glass, that was just what hosts did, and Corbin had yet to turn down sweets. He would like that, like to see him like that.

 

Corbin set the cup down, after a while, and sat back in the chair, pulling the bundle of blankets into his lap and flapped them out, and gathered them around him. He shifted, tucking his feet up onto the cushion, and turning onto his side, resting his temple against one of the lumpy wings of the chair.

 

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” Lauchlan asked, drowsy and a little confused.

 

“No, it’s too narrow, I’ll sleep over here,” he said, and patted the arm of the chair, offering an empty, resolute smile, and he settled back into the chair, trying to make himself as comfortable again, though, perhaps comfortabl was a relative term, under the circumstances.

 

“Corbin don’t be ridiculous. We fit fine in here before, and I’m not going to push you out of your own bed. I’d feel terrible,” he retorted, feeling more than a little outraged by the idea of Corbin spending his night like that, all because of this stupid mistake. It wasn’t as if the two of them couldn’t fit in the bed together, they had shared it before with no issue. He could understand that Corbin was upset, but, punishing himself like this wouldn’t help anyone.

 

Corbin started, and he glanced furtively between the bed and his own uncomfortable perch, his face torn, but eventually good sense won and he sheepishly gathered up his blankets and padded over. He spread the blankets over the foot of the bed, and delicately slid under the covers, teetering on the edge of the mattress, his arms crossed over his chest, and his shoulders hunched inward as if he were trying to protect himself from some ferocious animal, not that it would work with them being just a few inches apart from one another. Lauchlan shifted, pressing his back to the wall, and stretching his legs out straight so that Corbin might have a little more room, but he made no move to take what he’d been offered. He perched on the edge, still, teetering and huddling into himself. He didn’t even have his head on the pillow.

 

Would it be wrong of him, to ask to be held again? It felt selfish, but at least Corbin would be more comfortable as well, it couldn’t be good for him to sleep like that, he’d probably fall out the minute he drifted off. But, all the same, it was a little dishonest, and, well, what if Corbin didn’t like the cuddling? He’d only ever initiated it the once, could be that he’d changed his mind, and, well, under the circumstances, it would be understandable. Asking to be held now, with the state Corbin was in, as nice as it would be, felt, more than a little manipulative, and the last thing he wanted was to take advantage of his distress, but he couldn’t leave him like that.

 

“Please come closer,” he muttered. He had to say something, he’d never be able to sleep seeing Corbin like that. At least this was honest.

 

Corbin startled, and he slid backward for a perilous second before he flailed outward and grasped the sheets, halting his fall. Lauchlan offered out his hand, concerned, but Corbin only looked at it, his cheeks colouring before he sheepishly scrambled back onto the bed properly, and shifted closer as Lauchlan had asked him to. They were facing each other, he could smell the faint scent of whiskey of his breath, feel his warmth against his body, and though Corbin hesitated to touch him, it was rather inevitable that they brushed against eachother, shin to shin, hand to hand, though Corbin shank away from him all the same.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked.

 

Corbin ducked his head, obscuring his expression, and huffed into the pillow.

 

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep,” he muttered, and that was the end of it.

 

Lauchlan gnawed his lip, worried for him, but, what could he do, really? Forcing his affection upon him would only chase him back to the chair again, no matter how he longed for it. This was just going to have to do. He put his head to the pillow and closed his eye, listening to Corbin breath as he willed away the time. Sleep came slowly to him, but as it did, Corbin seemed to soften, uncoiling a little, and he felt the softness of his body come to rest against him, his body heat radiating out of him like an oven, and though he didn’t dare put his arm around him, that familiar warmth wormed deep into his chest, and kept him company till he drifted off at last.

 

When he woke the next morning Corbin was still with him, for a change. It was nice, waking up with him that way. He was starting to get used to having his curly hair everywhere, and the way his limbs just splayed all over as soon as he drifted off. One of his legs had ended up hooked round his, and his head was tucked close, against his chest, and Lauchlan didn’t dare move for fear of waking him. He watched him sleep for a while, half dozing himself, and as the dappled light of morning began winking through the curtains, he started to rouse.

 

Corbin didn’t seem to wake all at once, but rather, in stages, first he snorted and huffed, as if he could puff away whatever irritant had roused him. Then his brow would crease, and he curled tighter, nuzzling further into the pillows, trying to hide from the inevitable. Then, finally, his eyelids started to flutter, his nose began to twitch, and he started to perceive the world around him again. When he realised where he was a few minutes later, he flushed bright red, and with a look of guilt painted on his face, quickly disentangled himself, and slid out of bed, bouncing upright in one scrambling motion.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Lauchlan muttered, more than a little alarmed by the way that Corbin had jolted into wakefulness.

 

“It’s fine, don’t worry yourself,” he muttered, quickly, looking down at the floor. “How are you feeling this morning? Any better? Worse?”

 

“Better, I think, definitely rested,” he sighed, and slowly pushed himself upright, and sitting on the edge of the bed. He felt a little light headed for a moment, but it passed. His wounds ached still but, his head felt more or less back to normal.

 

Corbin sighed, and nodded happily, his hands clasped behind his back. Lauchlan couldn’t help but find it strange, Corbin usually seemed to stay half asleep for a while, at least until he’d had a decent cup of tea, but today he seemed immediately awake, on edge, and jittery. Lauchlan wasn’t sure what had happened to warrant it.

 

“I’ll make breakfast, then, shall I? Would you like tea?” he asked, his faux cheer striking Lauchlan as rather out of character so early in the morning.

 

“Is the pope a Catholic?” Lauchlan said, smiling at him.

 

Corbin snorted, a smile briefly spreading across his face, before he sobered, his face growing more serious.

 

“On second thought, there’s probably something we ought to do, first. I need to change your bandages, I should’ve done it yesterday, but, well. It might be best to get it over and done with now. It might make you ill again, if you do it on a full stomach,” he said, his tone grave.

 

“Is it going to be that bad?” Lauchlan asked, eye wide, and trepidation fluttering in his stomach.

 

Corbin looked torn, and he glanced away from him for a moment, chewing at the inside of his cheeks as he seemed to argue with himself for a moment.

 

“It, ought not to be, but, I need to clean the wounds, and, if there’s any infection, then, that won’t be pleasant, but it has to be done. I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t necessary,” he said, rubbing at the nap of his neck.

 

“Well, alright,” Lauchlan said, stuttering a little, and he swallowed, his mouth dry.

 

“I’ll get some things ready, you, make yourself comfortable, maybe stoke the fire up a bit. This, shouldn’t take too long, but, well,” Corbin shrugged weakly, and he turned, and gathered up a neat stack of folded clothes he’d left on the seat the night before, and hurried out.

 

Lauchlan did as he’d been told to, throwing some fresh wood onto the fire and stoking it to life. He made up the bed, and tried to tidy up his things a little, though he didn’t dress again. He puttered about anxiously for a while, wringing his hands while he waited for Corbin to return, his nerves alight. He raised his hand to his head and gently probed at the bandages. The lump was still just as lumpy as before, and his skin felt hot beneath the linen, but he had little idea if that was normal or not. It was probably best not to touch it, but, he couldn’t seem to help himself in his worry.

 

Corbin returned after a time, fully dressed, and smelling strongly of carbolic. He held a tray laden with implements, glass bottles, stoppered with cork, fresh rolled bandages, and a kettle, still spouting steam, set upon a small square of quilted fabric.

 

He set the tray down on the table, and lifted the lid of the kettle, it was full of water, still roiling from heat, and removed a white square of terrycloth from the boiling water with a pair of forceps, setting it to the side of the basin he’d brought, and then poured the water into it as well.

 

Corbin called him over, his face grim, and serious. Lauchlan went his mouth dry, still wringing his hands, and he sat on the floor beside the table as Corbin urged him, his hands folded over his lap, still nervously fiddling.

 

Corbin put his hand on his shoulder, and squeezed it reassuringly.

 

“This’ll be over quick,” he said, softly, and Lauchlan gulped, not finding that quite as reassuring as Corbin had intended.

 

Corbin folded back his shirtsleeves, and washed his hands first, the scent of steam and carbolic filling the air as he scrubbed, methodically cleaning under each fingernail, and between each joint. Lauchlan spared a moment to worry for his poor hands and the sting that would deliver, but, he supposed it was unavoidable.

 

“We should get you to a proper Doctor soon. Get your head looked at,” he said, shaking his hands to dry them.

 

“But I feel better, at least compared to yesterday, and the day before,” Lauchlan said, staring at his lap. He’d had some experience with Doctors, and every time, he’d ended up lesser than he’d been before. That was more than enough experience for him.

 

“I’m fairly sure you ought to have some stiches done, but, I don’t trust myself to do it,” he explained, reaching for his head and removing the clips that held the bandages in place. He began unravelling the soiled linen, explaining as he did, “If they don’t get stitched, they’ll take longer to heal, and the scars will be much worse.”

 

He removed the linen all together, and tossed it onto the fire before Lauchlan could get a good look at it, but, the dark bloodstains appeared rather substantial. Lauchlan hadn’t realised he’d bled so much.

 

“That’s hardly a novelty for me, you know. I have plenty. I doubt two more will make much difference,” Lauchlan said, smiling in an attempt to lighten the mood.

 

Corbin paused then, his silence telling, and Lauchlan withered.

 

“I don’t care, Corbin. I’d rather have you look at it than a surgeon. I don’t want to have some stranger messing with my head, the last time that happened, I, well, I don’t think I could handle that again. I would embarrass myself, at best, at worst,” he paused, his tongue thick and dry in his mouth, the memory of the dark bruise he’d left on Corbin’s skin jumping to mind. His self control wasn’t the best, in this regard, he’d only hurt the poor man, or hurt himself. “Safe to say, it’s not a road I want to travel again, not unless I absolutely have to. I don’t mind another scar or two,” he said.

 

Corbin sighed, and Lauchlan knew he’d won. Corbin didn’t comment on it, however, and instead reached for the cloth square, still steaming hot, and began gently cleaning the skin around the wounds. Though his touch was soft, it stung sharply, and Lauchlan bit his lip to stifle his whining, and held deathly still.

 

Corbin committed his task silently, his brow creased, his mouth set, and his eyes dark with regret, but his hands were sure, and steady, and the process was not as gruelling as he feared it might have been. Corbin cleaned the wound on his nape first, then his temple, then the rest of his head, cleaning away specks of blood, or soap that had been left behind by that initial, panicked triaging, he even ran a comb through his hair for him, careful not to pull at the gash on his nape as he did, neatly parting it so as to get at them better.

 

“You should bite this. I’ve got to put some soap on these now. It’s going to sting, a lot, and you’ll bite your lip in two at this rate,” he said after a few minutes of silent treatment, and offered him a clean, unused cloth.

 

Lauchlan gulped, but did as Corbin told him, folding the cloth a few times, then clamping it between his teeth.

 

Corbin nodded grimly, and scrubbed the cloth with carbolic soap, the acrid smell filling the air, and then brought it back to his skin.

 

He almost screamed, then, even though Corbin treated him ever so gently, god, did it burn. He whimpered through the improvised gag, grateful for Corbin’s good sense. He might well have bitten his own tongue off, the way his whole body clenched in pain. Corbin finished his task methodically, first nape, then temple, but the burn lingered even when he pulled the cloth away. Once he was done with the soap he smeared the wounds with more iodine, the burn turning sharper, and gently rubbed some sort of ointment onto the inflamed bruising that surrounded the wounds. When he was satisfied, he wrapped his head in fresh bandages, and pinned them tightly in place.

 

It took Lauchlan a minute to unwind enough to spit the cloth out, his whole body was wound so tight he couldn’t bear to move, the sting still lingering, and he relaxed slowly, beginning with his extremities and working up to the rest of him, his body shuddering as the tensions released.

 

He took a moment to get his breath back, his chest heaving, and Corbin washed his hands again. Though he towelled himself dry this time. Lauchlan couldn’t read the look on his face, which was perhaps worse than if he had looked outright upset.

 

“So, how’s it look,” he asked, half dreading the answer.

 

“The cuts aren’t as bad as I thought they were to start with, I reckon they should heal well enough without the stitching. It’s the swelling I’m worried about, it hasn’t gone down at all, and the bruising is, bad, to put it lightly,” he said, though he didn’t sound as relieved as Lauchlan would have thought, given the diagnosis.

 

“Well, that’s better than it being the other way round, surely,” he said, relieved. At least bruises couldn’t become infected, he’d be sore for a while, but, he could live with that.

 

“Not if it doesn’t start going down soon,” said Corbin. “I’ve can give you some ointment for it, but, if it doesn’t get better soon, or if it starts to look the slightest bit worse, promise me you’ll see a real doctor?” Corbin asked, just shy of begging.

 

“Well, perhaps in a few days,” Lauchlan started, but Corbin cut him off.

 

“No _perhaps_ , promise me,” he barked.

 

“Alright, I promise, but, I do feel better. I’m sure it won’t be necessary,” Lauchlan said, splaying out his hands plaintively.

 

“You’ll have to clean these yourself, every day, and change the bandages every time, can you do that on your own?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.

 

“I’ll certainly try, but, if I can’t, I can come to you, can’t I?” Lauchlan gulped, and couldn’t help but fear the question was a trick one.

 

Corbin sighed, and rubbed at his forehead, but he didn’t push anymore.

 

“Sure, that’ll be fine,” he sighed, and he shook his head. He packed his things up on his tray, something listless about his movements. Lauchlan wasn’t sure why that of all things took the wind from his sails, but, he wasn’t about to dispute it.

 

“You still feel up to breakfast? Or would you like to wait a bit first?” Corbin asked, lifting the tray, and turning to face him as he did.

 

“I think I’ll be alright, but, perhaps something warm?” he asked, softly. He didn’t want to be demanding, but, he was growing cold without his outer clothes, and he craved the comfort.

 

“Of course,” Corbin said, with a smile teasing at the corner of his lips. “Get your kit on and meet me downstairs, I’ll get started,” he said.

 

“I don’t suppose you have my coat?” he asked, tentatively.

 

Corbin’s eyes widened, and he looked taken aback for a minute, before he nodded emphatically, “Oh, yes, sorry. It was, soiled, from, well you know, so I had to wash it. I hung it up in front of the stove overnight,” he said, shrugging awkwardly, the things on the tray rattling.

 

“I’ll be down in a minute then, “ Lauchlan answered, smiling gratefully.

 

He dressed again, finding his things where he’d left them, and made his way down to meet him. He felt much steadier on his feet today, almost normal again, and he made it down the narrow stairs without any trouble. Finding the kitchen, was a somewhat simpler manner of putting his nose to the air and following the scent of coalfire.

 

The kitchen was a small room, tucked along the end of the building, but the equipment within it was of an industrial scale. The cast iron range oven took up the entirety of the end wall, and there was a huge cook pot filled with steaming water slung over the hot coals. There was a long galley table against one wall, it’s surface pitted, burned and scarred by years of wear and tear, a few tal chairs were pushed against it, and a rack was mounted above it, from which an array of pots, pans, and crockery hung. A row of cupboards lined the opposite wall. A rather battered cold closet sat sadly in the corner by the door, the wooden cladding was warped by damp, allowing the sawdust insulation to slowly flake out, even though Corbin had stuffed the gaps with rags. Next to it was what looked like a wash trough, and a brass tap that was steadily leaking, water dripping slowly into the drain below. Lauchlan was surprised that the building had indoor plumbing, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been. Coalford hadn’t always been poor after all.

 

Lauchlan crossed the room to the range, and found his coat by the stove, hung from a few cup hooks with the crockery. It looked a little rumpled and in need of pressing, but, otherwise none the worse for wear. He shrugged it on, grateful that it had been salvaged. It was a loyal old thing, toasty warm and worn in all the right ways. It would have been difficult to replace, he had somewhat awkward proportions, and the style had been out of fashion for quite some time. He probably would have had to settle for something else, or perhaps get one made especially, but he didn’t think he’d be comfortable parting with such an amount of money just for sentiment.

 

He turned his attention back to Corbin, whom was paying attention to the cookpot on the stove. He picked up an iron hook and opened the hatch of the oven, he tipped the cookpot gently toward the opening with the hook, transferring the water into a pair of heavy buckets with well-practiced ease. He shut the hatch, and gingerly tested the waters temperature with his knuckles, and must’ve found it satisfactory, as he picked up a paper parcel from the table, shoved it beneath his arm, then took both buckets in hand and headed to the door.

 

“What are you doing?” Lauchlan asked, leaning against the door frame as he watched Corbin work. It seemed a little early to be thinking about laundry, and Corbin had promised to start on breakfast.

 

“Just a little watering. You like eggs?” he asked, and Lauchlan felt his stomach growl at the thought. He hadn’t had any in awhile though, they always got pricier in the winter when the hens went off the lay, and Lauchlan was a little frugal in that regard.

 

“Ah, yes? Would you like some help?” he asked, walking over and reaching for a bucket, but Corbin shrugged him off.

 

“If you could grab the door for me that’d be help enough,” he said, nudging his head toward it.

 

Lauclan did as Corbin had asked him, shivering a little in the morning chill, and Corbin sidestepped past him and out into the cold. Lauchlan was tempted to linger by the warmth of the fire, but his curiosity was well and truly piqued, so he followed him out into the garden.

 

The garden was a lot bigger than Lauchlan expected it to be. It was actually a fair bit larger than Lauchlan’s own, though that wasn’t a very high standard to surmount. There were four raised garden beds laying fallow beneath the glistening frost, protected by a layer of straw and potash, and a herbaceous border had been planted around the fenceline. Most of the hardy perennials were unfamiliar in their leafless winter dormancy, but Lauchlan recognized a thorny tangle of rambling roses climbing up the wall of the house and creeping along the slats of the fence, and there wereomredred a number of dense lavender bushes, the bare branches glistening with frozen drops of dew. A small tree had been planted on a raised mound in the centre of the yard, its spindly branches laden with tiny buds, preparing for the spring.

 

The yard was surrounded by a low brick wall, which had then been extended upwards with a wooden fence that was bracketed against it. The top of the fence had been mounted with rather serious looking metal spikes, the sharpened points gleaming in the sunlight, and nails that were longer than the planks were thick had been driven through at regular intervals. The points had not been safely filed down, no doubt intentionally.

 

“You, uh, have a lot of people trying to climb in here, do you?” Lauchlan asked as he eyed the fortifications warily.

 

Corbin grunted in reply, setting the buckets down with huff of exertion.

 

Lauchlan turned his attention back to Corbin and noticed that what he had first assumed to be a coal shed was something else entirely. The small, brick construction shared a wall with the house, and while it might once have been a shed, it had since been reappropriated. What little room was left in the garden had been converted into some sort of covered wire cage that surrounded one face of the little outbuilding. There was a hinged wooden hatch attached to a wire and pulley, as well as a door accessed from outside. The pen itself was relatively barren, the ground covered in sodden straw and shredded newsprint, and occupied only by a small and rather dented tin washtub.

 

Corbin pulled open the hatch, and then rapped on the tin roof with his knuckles, the metal clanging clear and loud.

 

A scrappy piebald goose waddled begrudgingly out of the coop, feathers ruffled in a vain attempt to ward off the morning chill. Corbin leaned over the fence and poured the buckets out into the tub. The bird perked up at the sight and flapped into the water on clipped wings, honking happily as it splashed about in its warm bath.

 

“I didn’t know you kept geese,” Lauchlan said, smiling. He would never have thought Corbin to be much of an animal person, and being proven wrong on that front was actually rather endearing.

 

Corbin smiled, and laughed a little, his breath fogging in the crisp morning air. He unfolded the paper package to reveal a few handfuls of vegetable peelings, and foodscraps, which he set down for the goose to peck at.

 

“So, is she a good layer?” Lauchlan asked, watching amused as the bird craned its neck in a vain attempt to get at the peelings without leaving the warmth of the water. The bird must’ve liked its baths as much as Lauchlan did.

 

“Not really. She isn’t bad mind you, but she’s a bit young to give more than four at a time, if that. Most days I just get the two. Usually I have a few more than this, a pair or two most years. I breed up a few goslings in the spring and sell them to the folks around here in instalments for Christmas. I don’t make much but it’s a nice bit of money on the side, helps to keep everything buoyed up in the winter. This years been bad though, I lost one of my geese to a weasel and her gander wasn’t much use without her, so I sold it to the butcher. Then a rat got at the clutch, and then I got a bad gizzard worm outbreak, and, well, this is the only one I’ve got left of the lot of them,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and picking idly at the wire fence.

 

“That, that’s terrible, I’m sorry to hear that,” Lauchlan said, unsure of how consoling he ought to be, given that the birds were predestined for the dinner table rather than houspets. Even so, that was one hell of a streak of rotten luck.

 

“It’s not the end of the world, it’s just another thing I really didn’t need or want to deal with. But, so long as I have one to keep an eye on the garden for me, I’ll live. Gah, enough of this. Lets just see if she’s gonna feed us, yeah?” Corbin said, shaking his head and dusting his hands against his trousers. He turned away from him, but Lauchlan could tell his melancholy expression wasn’t all together gone.

 

Corbin took a ring of keys out of his pocket, and unlocked two padlocks on each end of the goose shed, and then lifted up the entire roof section up. It was thick, having both the corrugated tin, several struts and layer of newsprint and thatch insulation held in place by several planks of timber. He pushed it back, till it leaned against the wall, and then ducked inside.

 

He ducked back out a moment later with a grin on his face, and three white goose eggs tucked in the crook of his arm. Lauchlan helped him to lower the roof back, and then Corbin set down the eggs in one of his buckets, replaced the padlocks and they both headed back into the warmth of the kitchen, Lauchlan sighing gratefully to be out of the chill.

 

Corbin set eggs down in a bowl on the counter, and put the buckets away by the wash trough.

 

“Put a pot of tea on, would you? The kettles on the hook there, and the caddy is on the shelf in the pantry, right at eye level, you can’t miss it,” Corbin said.

 

Lauchlan did as he was asked, filling the kettle from the tap, setting it over the coals, and fetched the tea caddy. It was a battered thing, made from tin and painted gaudy colours that had almost entirely flaked off. The tea wasn’t the same black Indian variety that Lauchlan usually bought. It had some sign of the black leaf he was familiar with, but it was mixed with something greener that smelled more herbal, Lauchlan recognized the scent of chamomile and lavender in the mix, though they were not the only constituents. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Corbin had made the blend himself, given his extensive garden.

 

Corbin cracked the goose eggs into a bowl, and poured in the last of a bottle of milk from the cold closet. He stood infront of the pantry and deliberated for a moment, and then emerged with a thick handful of dried herbs and a red onion. The herbs he rubbed between his fingers till the leaves fell away from the stems and into the bowl, the onion he diced, tossed in with the eggs, and then scrambled the lot.

 

Corbin came to join him a few moments later. He handed Lauchlan a toasting fork and a few thick slices of bread, and Lauchlan carefully browned them over the coals while the kettle heated, and Corbin cooked the eggs in a saucepan. The kettle whistled a moment after he finished with the toast, and he went to fill the teapot as Corbin finished with the eggs.

 

Corbin’s blend of tea was a little peculiar, it wasn’t proper black tea but it wasn’t green either, but it smelled good either way, so Lauchlan didn’t mention it. He buttered the toast while it steeped, and by the time it was done Corbin had finished with the eggs as well. They divvied up their spread and sat side by side at the galley table, tucking in.

 

It was a very nice spread. The eggs were about as fresh as eggs could be, and they tasted richer than chickens eggs, meaty and sweet. The tea was good too, different, but still good, sweet on the tongue and soothing to the senses.

 

“You’re very good at this you know,” Lauchlan said, sincerely. It was an effort not to wolf down the meal. He was so hungry he could easily pack it away with room for more, but it was so delicious he didn’t want it to be over, so he paced himself best he could.

 

“Had to be. It’s not like anyone else is going to bother,” Corbin said gruffly, but he smiled a little all the same.

 

“I never really got the hang of it myself. It seemed better just to leave it to the experts,” Lauchlan laughed lightly at the memory of his mother’s exasperation with him, and grinned around a forkful of eggs.

 

“I suppose you just happened to have a few experts on hand,” Corbin said, one eyebrow winging upwards.

 

Lauchlan snorted, and nodded as he hastily swallowed his mouthful.

 

“Actually I did, my mother is a cook.”

 

“And she never taught you anything?” Corbin asked, almost laughing outright now.

 

“She tried. Lord help her she tried. I’m just that bad at it,” he said, shrugging helplessly. He had tried, honest to god, but he was just a disaster in the kitchen.

 

“How exactly did you feed yourself then?” Corbin asked, his head cocked, and his voice tinged with concern.

 

“Well, I could do porridge, eggs, boiled vegetables, fried vegetables and sausages. So I ate a lot of those when I had the time to cook, otherwise, I ate a lot of street food. It was a poor part of town so there were always plenty of vendors around, though the food, was, well. I learned to like jellied eel, after the first few months, it was that or trotters, and I swear, if have to eat another pigs trotter my digestion will revolt,” he said, groaning at the memory. The soup was generally pretty decent, but he was put off by the sheer number of people who he shared the vendors crockery with. It was, however, an unavoidable necessity of the entire business model, so there was nothing much to be done about it. He was glad he was past that point in his life, either way.

 

Corbin chuckled, and Lauchlan felt himself smiling, his heart thudding in pleasure. It was good to hear him laugh again, he had feared he wouldn’t, after everything that had happened, and they ate their breakfast together, in a tenuous, but still contented quiet.

 

Lauchlan didn’t want it to end, but it had to, eventually. They finished their breakfast, and Corbin stacked the dishes in the trough, and filled it to let them soak.

 

“Now you’re feeling up to moving around, you should go home, rest in your own bed for a few days, before you have to go back to work,” he said, speaking over his shoulder.

 

“Didn’t you say you had something to show me?” Lauchlan asked, Corbin went quiet at that, and turned away again.

 

“I did say that, didn’t I?” he sighed, and rubbed at his forehead. “That mightn’t have been my best idea.”

 

“Corbin, if it’s important to you, I’ll see it. I, I don’t mind, if you changed your mind, of course. But, there’s no need to hide. I, I won’t judge you for it, you know,” Lauchlan said. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was that he wouldn’t be judging Corbin for, and he couldn’t even begin to speculate, but, after everything Corbin had done for him, the trust came easily.

 

“I know you won’t, but, it’s been a trying time and I… and you need your rest,” Corbin said, aborting his sentence partway through. He picked up a rag and started wiping repetitively at a plate, continuing even after it was clean.

 

“Corbin, I’m going to be alright. I am alright. If you don’t want to do it anymore, just say so,” Lauchlan sighed, turning away and sitting down at the table again. He felt more than rested enough, for one day at least. He was growing tired of lying idle all day long, and Corbin was acting strangely. He just wanted things to be the way they were before, but, he didn’t know what he could do to reassure him.

 

“I do want to. I owe you that much, hell, that’s the least I owe you, but, not now. Maybe, maybe tomorrow. It’ll be easier by the daylight,” Corbin said, and swallowed. “You, should head home, for now, get some rest, get your affairs sorted. I, I’ll meet you on Sunday, yes? You’re free then?” he asked, still scrubbing at the spotless plate.

 

“Corbin it is daylight, we both know you’re not doing this for me, what’s the matter?” he asked, exasperated.

 

Corbin sighed, deeply, and he hunched over the trough hiding his face. He finally set the clean plate down, and picked up another.

 

“I know, I know, you’re right. There, there are things I should tell you, things you deserve to know, I, I, just don’t think that,” he heaved a heavy sigh, and stilled seeming to gather his nerve. “You won’t think much of me, after,” he said.

 

“Corbin, I wouldn’t do that,” Lauchlan squawked in protest, but Corbin just huffed listlessly and shook his head.

 

“Don’t placate me,” he said softly, “You have no idea what you’re agreeing to.”

 

“Maybe not, but, I-I know how I feel, Corbin. If, if it matters so much, then please, just tell me,” Lauchlan implored, and he reached out to him, touching his shoulder.

 

Corbin flinched away at first, but he didn’t fight when Lauchlan stepped along side him, resting his hand over his back gently.

 

“I should. I will. I only need to, I need to show you something first. Are, you sure that you’re alright, it’s going to be a bit, a bit of a walk, most likely, and,” he started to waver again, folding in on himself looking down, and Lauchlan cut in before he could talk himself out of whatever this was.

 

“Corbin, I’m ready, alright, if this is so important to you then I want to see it, I’m ready,” he said, squeezing his shoulder.

 

Corbin sighed, closing his eyes steeling his face. Lauchlan waited for a moment, letting him collect himself.

 

“You’re right,” Corbin sighed. “This is, long overdue, and after everything that’s happened, this is the least I owe you. We should get it done with,” he said steeling his nerve, and turning to look up at Lauchlan, his gaze firm, but doubts were painted across his stricken face.

 

“Just tell me when you’re ready, and we’ll go,“ Lauchlan said, softly, unsure of what else he could say.

 

“Right, just give me an hour. I need, I need to get my head on straight,” Corbin replied, nodding stiffly, and turned back to his task.

 

“Of course,” Lauchlan replied, though he worried all the same.

 

The hour passed at a crawl. Corbin hustled about the kitchen, tidying up after their breakfast, and attempting to delay, doing, whatever it was they were going to do. Lauchlan tried to help him, but he was shooed off, each and every time. He worried for Corbin, whatever this was, the prospect of it clearly unsettled him something fierce, not that he felt at ease himself. He did not know what this would bring, what this would change, and it worried him, frightened it even, but, it seemed as if it needed to be done if either of them would have any peace. His head ached forebodingly, and he fretted, silently by the stove as Corbin worked himself into a lather.

 

The hour passed, and then a few minutes more, and Lauchlan had to step in and catch his attention before the time crawled on any further.

 

“Corbin,” he said, softly, catching Corbin’s arm in his hand. He would have gone on, but, it seemed he didn’t need to.

 

“I know, I know. I’ll get my coat,” he said, shaking his head, and pulling away from him. Lauchlan watched him as he padded back up to his bedroom, unsure of what to say, and went to stand by the door and wait.

 

Corbin had mended it well. The bolts had been replaced by far larger, and stronger looking fixtures, and latch and handle had likewise been replaced, the hinges repined, and reinforced with new nails. He doubted anyone would be able to kick their way through it now, which was comforting. Corbin came down to meet him, lingering at the foot of the steps for a moment. Lauchlan waited, and Corbin stared back, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes downcast. After a tense moment he shook his head, and marched over, looking at the floor the whole way.

 

“Lets go,” he said, fumbling in his pockets for his keys.

 

“Corbin, you realise, y-you don’t owe me anything, right? It was an accident,” he stuttered. The latch clicked open, but Corbin paused, looking up at him, his expression, perhaps more vulnerable than Lauchlan had ever seen him.

 

“I do, Lauchlan, but, thankyou, I suppose,” he sighed, turning away to examine his hands.

 

“But Corbin I-“

 

“Just stop, please. This, this, will make sense soon,” he said, and stepped out the door before Lauchlan could retort.

 

 

Lauchlan followed, and thought he knew that Corbin was right, he could not help but hope otherwise. He was damn sure that Corbin was going to hurt himself, more than he hurt Lauchlan, though he hoped it would not come to that. But, this, was something that Corbin, needed to do, even if everything about him from his tone to his posture was screaming that he did not want to. He could do little more than follow, and hope that everything would be alright.

 

God almighty, he hoped that they would be alright.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was, hard. It went and performed mitosis on me again, but the thing was that, very little happened in what became this chapter, it was only about four thousand words long, which was too long to attach to the beginning of the next chapter, which was already very long, and too short to stand alone without disrupting the narrative flow. I tried to pad it without just, you know, padding it. I incorporate some scenes which I had wanted to incorporate in chapter 19 and had to cut, but, I didn’t want to insert any new drama now, so close to the end of the story, so nothing really happens. I’m not sure if I like it, it feels, too padded now, but I’ve fiddled with it for a long time now and I haven't managed to make it any better, just different, and at this point I just want to move on, so I’ll let you guys decide I guess. Lauchlan was originally supposed to see the garden in the spring, but, I kind of screwed myself over on the time frame. I originally wanted the story to start in the winter and end in spring (yes, I know it’s an overdone metaphor, I’m sappy af) but, I screwed up my math early on, and it came a few weeks short, so no garden scene for me. I’m going to try to work it into the epilogue, because I really liked that scene and I want to use it. I’m still kind of kicking myself for getting my dates mixed up, but what can I do? I can’t just make three weeks of the year vanish, someone would probably notice. My fault for pantsing I guess.
> 
> Anyway, a big thanks for all those who left kudos and comments, I'll be back to see you with chapter 19 soon ;)


	19. It's Better Late Than Never

Corbin led him through winding streets and dingy alleys, taking them into an older part of Coalford. Most of the terraced houses were made from a fine grained stone rather than brick, and looked older and more refined than the colossal factories that had risen and fallen with the industry. Most of them were in disrepair, the slate shingles cracked or fallen away and most of the windows had been boarded up, but smoke still rose from the chimneys.

 

The traveled down the old road for a time, the decrepit buildings flanking the street, held together by little more than lichen and soot, but still standing, as if in sombre salute to better days. It wasn’t till they reached the end of it that Lauchlan realised where Corbin was leading him.

 

It was a church, an Anglican one if Lauchlan was not mistaken. It was not particularly old or grand, but it was neat and well maintained despite all the hardship it must have endured over the years, lending it an air of stoicism and dignity. Clear glass could be seen glinting in the arched windows, and the main doors were well polished, the dark oak glowed in the morning light. The stone lintel had been inscribed with bold, angular writing that declared the building to be “The Church of Saint Eligius.”

 

Corbin walked up the low cobblestone wall that surrounded the churchyard. There was a wooden gate set into it, coated in lichen and soot. Corbin reached out to open it but stopped, his hand hovering inches away from the wood. Lauchlan went to his side, and glanced at him worriedly.

 

Corbin was staring at the little gate as if it was likely to jump up and bite his head off, his eyes stormy with emotion and his shoulders tense as bowstrings.

 

“Corbin, are you alright?” Lauchlan said, quietly. He hadn’t known Corbin to be a religious man, hadn’t even considered it before, but he’d never seen Corbin act like this and he was worried. Surely Corbin wasn’t afraid for his soul, or some such thing? He’d always seemed so comfortable in his debauchery that Lauchlan couldn’t imagine him being the slightest bit religious, and yet, here they were.

 

Corbin shook his head sharply, his lip curling into a grimace that bared his teeth. He shut his eyes and shoved through the gate, the slamming it open with such force that the hinges shrieked and a small cloud of dust puffed loose from the other side of the wall.

 

Lauchlan darted after him before he could storm into the building. He touched a hand to his shoulder, and tried to step in front of the man.

 

“Corbin please,” Lauchlan murmured, putting himself between Corbin and the doors of the church, he didn’t want him doing anything rash.

 

Corbin slowed his pace, and his furrowed brow smoothed a little, his scowl bleeding into something softer. He glanced up at Lauchlan, his anger bubbling beneath the surface, and sighed.

 

“I’m alright,” Corbin said. Lauchlan didn’t believe it. “I should’ve done this a long time ago. I just, I just want to get it done,” he said, and ran a hand through his tangle of curls.

 

“I don’t think getting angry is going to make it easier,” Lauchlan said, giving Corbin’s shoulder a warm squeeze before letting it fall back down to his side. He didn’t like letting go, but it wouldn’t do to get too familiar where parishioners, or worse, clergymen might see them.

 

Corbin scowled darkly for a moment, but then he put a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, and hid his expression from view.

 

“Yes, yes I know. You’re right. Let’s, let’s just go,” he snapped, his voice was strained and he still seemed rather upset, but Lauchlan didn’t dare push him any further.

 

To Lauchlan’s surprise, Corbin stormed not into the church, but down a paved path that lead around the building. It was well tended, the pavestones were even and flat, and the path had been recently swept. The church building was long, the main hall seemed to stretch on and on, and Lauchlan shivered in the cold its shadow cast over the path, until they finally emerged out into the light yard beyond.

 

Lauchlan blinked as his eye stung, and slowly took in the sight before him. Behind the church was a graveyard. It was rather expansive, spanning from the boundaries of the street and its forlorn terraces, all the way down to the river’s embankment, where the ground abruptly dropped down to the riverbed a few hundred yards away. Skeletal trees were dotted about the place, their crowns flecked with the green of budding spring catkins. Lauchlan’s heart sank as the nature of their trip began becoming clearer.

 

“What are we looking for?” he asked, as gently as he could.

 

Corbin scowled, and opened his mouth to speak, but aborted the phrase and shut it. He worked his jaw silently, his teeth clicking against eachother, and he abandoned another sentence before he tipped back his head and scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration.

 

“You’ll know it when you see it, I’ll start at the other end,” he said, more quickly than Lauchlan had heard him speak, and began heading to the opposite end of the graveyard at a rather hurried pace.

 

“But Corbin-”

 

“You’ll know it!” Corbin snapped, whirling around to face him, “If you don’t we’ll meet in the middle and swap sides alright?” he said, more gently than before, but his eyes stormed and his voice sounded strained and tight.

 

Lauchlan nodded hastily, unwilling to test Corbin’s patience any further, and turned to do as he’d been told.

 

He set of, pacing slowly down the rows of headstones, skimming over each inscription before moving to the next.

 

The first row of stones were old, but not as ancient as he had first assumed. They dated earlier half of the previous century, after the metal working industry had started up, but before it had become truly prosperous. They were modest, and relatively few, as the plots were shared between entire families, rather than each member receiving an individual burial. Lauchlan wondered idly if that was the done thing, or more of a frugal manoeuvre, but kept his focus on the headstones ahead as he slowly paced through the rows.

 

It was easy to tell when the copper boom started up, because the stones became grander, made from dark, fine granite, and decorated with base relief sculptures and flowery epitaphs. They were also far more numerous, even though the plot sharing continued. There were clearly more people to be buried, since the dates were far closer together, and the people seemed to die younger. Lauchlan supposed that the factories must have been dangerous then, more so than now, at any rate. It was a saddening thought, and though he tried not to think too much of it, the reality of it worried away in his the back of his mind. As he passed by the headstones of factory owners and foremen, who had lived long into their dotage, the thought only burrowed deeper. They had been rich enough to decorate their gravesites with grand, marble edifices flanked by statues of mournful angels and pudgy cherubs that plucked gilted harps.

 

They were extravagant and gaudy, and they had not aged well. The smog and rain had stained the marble, streaking them with sooty black, and many of the figures had lost their noses, ears or fingers to the temper of the elements, making them look strange and inhuman. The gravesites themselves weren’t cared for much better but Lauchlan couldn’t find much sympathy for them, not when surrounded by folk who had passed so long before their time, and had little more than a simple “requiem en pace” to commemorate their loss.

 

Lauchlan hurried on, not paying the gaudy edifices any more attention than he strictly had to, and returned to the rows of working folk.

 

He passed through he peak of the boom years and into the decline without noticing anything he thought relevant, and began to doubt that he’d know whatever it was he was meant to find. The stones of the past few decades were by far the most modest. Those that had headstones had a flat slab of stone, soft and crumbling spoils by the look of it, with the inscription carved shallowly into the surface. They were too small for much in way of epitaphs, so most were inscribed with just a name and a pair of dates. Some did not even have headstones, but rather a pair of ceramic tiles made of the same earthen clay that bricks were usually made from. Though those at least were large enough to be stamped with a simple message.

 

Lauchlan looked over to Corbin, where he was making his own rounds not far away. He looked frustrated, his arms clenched behind his back, and his jaw slowly grinding as he swiftly paced up and down the rows. There were only three rows left between them now, and Lauchlan sighed wearily. He must have missed what ever it was, and he knew that Corbin would not be happy to hear that. Lauchlan had never seen him this agitated before, and he didn’t think that finding what ever he wanted found was going to soothe him.

 

Lauchlan sighed and looked down, glancing over the stone at his feet, seeing it without truly reading it. He moved to the next and glanced it over, when his mind caught up with the simple epitaphs meaning, and his heart skipped a beat.

 

He glanced back toward the other grave marker, sure that he was wrong, that he was imagining it, but it read just as he though it had.

 

“ _Eloise Agatha Scargill_ ”

 

The marker was a brick one, the letters depressed in the red clay. The ceramic was cracked and pitted by the weather, held together with moss and lichen. Weeds had grown up around it, through it in places, making it difficult to read. Any sort of paint or glaze it might have been treated with was long gone. The numerals below her name had been cracked through, the hyphen lost, but the numbers were still legible. She had only been fifteen years old.

 

Lauchlan swallowed, his mouth was dry, and his heart ached for Corbin. Scargill was hardly a common name, so this had to be what Corbin had wanted him to see.

 

“Corbin, I think I’ve found it,” he called, though he felt his voice tremble.

 

Corbin froze like a startled rabbit, staring blankly up at him, his eyes wide and full of dread.

 

For a moment, he just stared, eyes frighteningly blank and then he slowly forced himself to come toward him, walking like a man condemned, until he came to Lauchlan’s side at last, and stared at the little marker at their feet.

 

“You found her,” Corbin said, and his voice cracked harshly.

 

Lauchlan nodded, unsure of what to say to _that_ , and they both stared at the marker as the silenced stretched out between them.

 

“I didn’t think we would. I’ve never, been here, before. I didn’t know where they put her,” he croaked, his expression was blank, but his voice had broken.

 

“Oh, Corbin,” Lauchlan sighed. He looped an arm around Corbin’s shoulder, and squeezed him tightly. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice growing tight.

 

Corbin said nothing, but he drew a deep breath, and knelt down to the grave marker. He uprooted the overgrown weeds with an angry fervour, and scratched at the moss and lichen, scraping it from the grave marker with his bare hands, heedless of the dirt and grit that lodged deep beneath his blunt fingernails.

 

“Corbin, please, stop that, get up, _please,_ ” Lauchlan pleaded, and rested his hand against his back, worried that he’d scrape his fingers raw.

 

Corbin took a deep, harsh breath, and then stilled. Lauchlan could feel the muscles in his back go taut, his shoulders hunched. He released the breath slowly, and tersely rocked to his feet, his movements jerky and tense. He drew another trembling breath, and ran his dirty fingers through his hair.

 

“Damn it,” he said, and his tension seemed to ease a little with the expletive, “Damn it, damn it all, I thought I was over this,” he hissed, coming closer to his usual self with every utterance. He took hold of fistfuls of his hair and tugged harshly at it, making Lauchlan wince in sympathy, and then let go and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Corbin, it’s alright. Really, it is. I understand,” said Lauchlan, his hand still rested platonically on his shoulder. Lauchlan glanced about quickly, and then let the hand drift down, fingers wide, and rubbed across his shoulders, hoping that would be some comfort to him.

 

Corbin’s face twisted in a way Lauchlan could only describe as being ugly, and then stiffly turned away.

 

“Come with me,” he said, his tone hard, but Lauchlan didn’t think he was angry.

 

He marched stiffly toward the riverbed, and Lauchlan nervously followed two steps behind him.

 

Corbin led them down to the banks. The riverbank was silt in places where it was allowed to pool, but the majority was covered in smooth, round pebbles. The river was low though with the spring thaw beginning, he doubted it would remain so for long. As it was, there were just a few feet of dry land between the fast flowing waters and the sturdy retaining walls that flanked the riverbank, several yards high, topped with barricades of tarred rope, turned stiff as steel bars by weather, soot, and salt air.

 

The water was dark and thick with silt and algae, and there was still the odd clump of melting ice bobbing out to sea. The main docks were further downriver in the harbour, around the bend and out of sight, but the great, stinking plumes of coalsmoke and steam bellied their presence.

 

Corbin lead them to a small, horseshoe shaped indentation in the retaining wall. There was a warehouse abutting the top of the wall, the windows were bricked up and the great loading gates boarded shut, but the sandstone edifice was stalwart and imposing even in its disrepair. There were a series of posts jutting out of the gravel in two short rows that may have once been a pier, but the planks had been robbed out, and the decaying posts were covered in algae and clusters of snails and shellfish. There was not another soul in sight, and none that could be heard, except for a few herring gulls that called mournfully from atop the loading arm.

 

Corbin slid to the ground, the loose pebbles crunching loudly beneath his weight, spread his legs out in front of him, and leaned his back against the wall. Lauchlan examined the soot and mud encasing the brickwork and grimaced, but pushed his petty concerns from his mind and gingerly knelt down beside him, the pebbles digging into his shins.

 

It wasn’t terribly comfortable, but he was surprised by just how private it was. No one could approach from directly above, with the warehouse boarded up, and they were surrounded on both sides by the retaining wall. No one could approach them from the embankment without them hearing their footsteps, nor could they see from the opposite bank with the thick posts obscuring the view. It wasn’t the privacy of home, but it was close to it.

 

“I thought you hadn’t been here before?” he asked, and gamely shifted closer so their sides were pressed gently against one another.

 

Corbin snorted, and shook his head.

 

“The warehouses got put in around the same time as the wall did. There are dozens of these places all along the lower bank, it’s usually a safe bet that they all have little docks like this. When I saw the warehouse, I thought, that this might be as good a place as any to go, at least here we’re out of sight,” he said, offering up an empty smile.

 

Lauchlan grimaced at his own lack of tact, and swallowed down an apology, knowing it wouldn’t have much meaning to Corbin just now.

 

“Corbin, would you, do you want to talk about, about what you showed me?” he asked, tentatively laying a hand on his knee.

 

Corbin snorted abruptly, and looked away from him, out over the river, his expression closed off.

 

“It’s alright if you don’t. Honestly, I understand, I do,” Lauchlan reassured hastily.

 

Corbin sighed, his grimace fading into weariness.

 

“I meant to, that’s the whole reason I brought you here, I just, forgot how much it,” his voice trailed off, and he shrugged anxiously.

 

Lauchlan squeezed his knee encouragingly, and pressed a little closer into his side.

 

“It hurts?” Lauchlan prompted, softly.

 

Corbin snorted, and ran his hand through his hair, smearing it with dirt.

 

“I should be over this by now. I thought I _was_ over this,” he snarled.

 

“Over it? Corbin, that was, you, you don’t need to be over it. Who told you that?” spluttered Lauchlan, outraged. God almighty, if Eloise was who he thought she was to Corbin, he would never, ever expect him to just, be over it. He missed Claire like a lost limb, and she was alive and well! If he’d lost her, forever, he didn’t know what he’d do. He’d certainly never just, be over it, that was for certain.

 

“Me, Lauchlan. Not like there’s anyone else who gives a shite,” he snorted.

 

Lauchlan blinked owlishly, not quite comprehending. How could he think of himself that way? It seemed needlessly cruel. Corbin looked at him, and his face, softened at the sight of his bewildered expression, and he dropped his gaze back to the pebbles, his sadness settling around him like a cloak.

 

“Who was she?” Lauchlan asked, softly.

 

Corbin looked back down, and swallowed, his jaw clicking. The tension hung in the air between them for a long, silent moment, and then he shook his head tersely, his eyes closed.

 

“She was my sister. She was the firstborn of all of us, but I was the first son so we were united on that front. She and I were close, though, probably me more so than her. It was hard not to like her, me not so much. We were about as skint as you can be while still having a roof, and the folks weren’t too interested in changing that. They were always working on adding to the brood, and didn’t bother worrying about how to provide for the kids they already had. There were fourteen of them after I left, but who the hell knows how many there are now,” he smiled a wry, sad smile, and chuckled humourlessly.

 

“Fourteen?” Lauchlan asked.

 

“Children. Not including myself of course, or Eloise,” he said, voice deadpan.

 

Lauchlan opened his mouth to speak, but could not compel the words to form, leaving him to flap his jaw like a landed fish, his mind boggling. Sixteen children. _Sixteen Children._ It shouldn’t be, couldn’t be possible, but that was what Corbin had said all the same.

 

“How, did, how?” Lauchlan spluttered.

 

“I don’t know the specifics, but it was done in the usual way, I suppose. They started young, and didn’t waste any time. Just kept pushing out one after the other. Though a few came in pairs, so that helped to hurry things along. They were efficient, I’ll give them that,” Corbin said, shrugging nonchalantly.

 

“But, but _how? Why?_ I can’t even comprehend, I don’t understand how she could, why would she do that?” Lauchlan spluttered. He remembered what his own mother had been like when she’d carried Claire. Her every joint ached, her stomach was constantly in upset, so much so that even the slightest waft of scent would send it into upheaval, she broke out in terrible rashes for no apparent reason, her ankles were so swollen toward the end that none of her shoes would fit anymore, and _that_ was just the pregnancy. The pain of her labour had lasted for more than _twelve hours_ before Claire came into the world, she’d barely had the strength to hold her and feed her before falling into a hard earned sleep. It didn’t seem possible for a woman’s internals to go through that _sixteen times_ and still keep in one piece, but, apparently, it must’ve been.

 

“I wish I knew, but she didn’t have much time for us. She was always more concerned with getting ready for the next one down the production line,” his expression twisted, and he made a broad sweeping motion with his arm. “They had it all worked out you see. Once a baby was off the tit it’d get passed to the tens to look after while they went to work on the next one. The elevens and ups went to the factories, the five through nines the street earners, the four and below the homebodies. It was like a bloody human assembly line. We, me and Eloise, used to call them the Foremen,” he said, his expression twisting yet further, folding into an ugly grimace.

 

“Corbin, I don’t know what to say,” Lauchlan said his breath catching in his throat.

 

Corbin heaved a loud sigh, and pressed against Lauchlan’s side, his head on his shoulder.

 

“That’s not the last of it. Eloise see, she worked as a fish gutter, and I did work down at the drydock. One year, I got sick with something, I don’t know what, could’ve been dysentery, could’ve been cholera, could’ve been any bloody thing, it doesn’t even matter. Point is, she left off work to look after me, cause no one else was going to bother. After a while, it spread, and she got whatever it was that I had. I got better eventually, but she, didn’t,” his voice tapered away a fraction, tightly strung and trembling. “Everyone mourned, at first. She raised most of them, and they all loved her, me not so much. But then the Forewoman pushed out another girl a few weeks after, and she gave it her name. Eloise’s name. Just like that she just stopped mourning, everyone did, it was like they threw a switch. No one cared about Eloise now they had Sixteen. No one missed her anymore. No one talked about her. It was just, business as usual, carry on, nobody mind the great bloody elephant lying dead in the corner, and I realized then, we were all disposable. Replaceable. They, replaced Eloise, the one who had spent her entire life working and working, and giving them everything she had so there would be food on the table, she was the one who cared about them, loved them even when we were complete pieces of shite. She was the only decent human being out of the lot of us, and they just, replaced her. We were nothing more than bloody livestock to them, replaceable, disposable, and the others, they, accepted that like it was normal. It wasn’t normal, it _isn’t_ normal, and there was no way in hell I was going to live my life like an animal! I didn’t want to live like that anymore, I just couldn’t stand it. So when things went quiet I took whatever I could take from them and I ran for it. Never looked back, and I never heard from any of them again, though, I doubt anyone looked. It wouldn’t surprise me if they’ve gone and made a replacement Corbin by now,” he said, scoffing, and wearing a wan smile that was about as convincing as plaster passed off as marble.

 

“They didn’t, none of them tried to find you? You had so many brothers and sisters and not a one of them tried to help? Surely, surely there was someone. Someone who cared enough to help you,” Lauchlan whispered, afraid of the answer. He’d move mountains for Claire, if only she needed it of him. She was his sister, he loved her. Corbin must have had so many siblings, so many people of his own flesh and blood, and yet, he had no one. Lauchlan didn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand it. It defied all sense.

 

Corbin scoffed and shook his head.

 

“I doubt any of them could be bothered. They hated me,” he said. There was no self pity in it, no bitterness or spite. It was stated with all the factuality of stating that the sky was blue, or the grass green, or water wet. Like it was _normal_ to be hated by his own family.

 

“I don’t understand. They, they shouldn’t’ve, they were your family. No one should, no one could hate you so much. I could never hate you, you, they, they should have looked for you. Should have helped you,” Lauchlan stuttered.

 

Corbin smiled, the expression pinched and wrong, and bowed his head.

 

“I suppose it was easier just to hate me. I was a burden to them. Too sick to do anything but eat, sleep, and shit. Another mouth to feed, another body to clothe. With the folks all too focused on piling more and more deadweight onto the load, they were the ones that had to bust their knuckles for the next meal. I couldn’t pull my weight, couldn’t keep up, so it was only a matter of time till the resentment started. Then I went and took Eloise away from them to top everything off. It’s easier to blame than to mourn. Easier to hate than to forgive. I can’t even resent them for that, because I did the same bloody thing to them. You have to understand, the way we lived then, it was squalor, the sort of squalor that makes the spike look like an _escape._ People, decent people that is, wouldn’t let dogs live the way we lived. They would’ve considered it far kinder just to shoot them and put them out of their misery. Besides, when I got out I still had one foot in the grave anyway. They wouldn’t’ve expected me to last long out in the elements, they probably figured I’d come crawling back on my own eventually, so why waste time looking?” Corbin scoffed, his voice catching in the back of this throat, making the words rasp, even as he smiled his false smile and shrugged his shoulders.

 

Lauchlan couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that Corbin was downplaying things for him. He had the horrid suspicion that, perhaps, Corbin’s family had expected him to die. Perhaps, they had wanted him to. He didn’t even know these people, but, there was no doubt in his mind that Corbin was telling him the truth, he just, was. He wouldn’t make this up, he couldn’t. God knows if his family had been half decent people, then Corbin would’ve known where to find Eloise. What feeling human being would keep that from him?

 

“Oh, Corbin,” Lauchlan sighed. He didn’t know what to say, if there was anything he could say. He knew no words that could make this better, so he reached around Corbin’s side and held him tight. With one ear to the riverbank, the other to the street above, he pressed a kiss against his temple.

 

“I don’t, I just don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

 

Corbin made a high pitched noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly Lauchlan had a lap full of him. He straddled him, crossing his legs around his waist, looped his arms around his middle, clutched handfuls of his greatcoat, and nuzzled his face into his left shoulder. Lauchlan hesitated only a moment before clutching him tighter, pressing another chaste kiss against the crown of his head, and rubbing his hands in soothing circles across his shoulders.

 

Corbin slackened after a few moments, but did not let go, so Lauchlan rested his chin on the crown of Corbin’s head, and kept his eye out for any onlookers. The river was thankfully quiet, no ships chugged upstream or down, and no one looked out from the boarded up warehouses on the opposite bank.

 

“I don’t know what I can do Corbin, but if there’s ever anything, just say the word,” he murmured, and gently brushed a hand through Corbin’s hair where he had mussed it up with his kisses. It didn’t feel as tangled as it looked, though he still lost sight of his fingers amongst the thick curls.

 

Corbin softened, and curled softly against him like a kitten. Lauchlan buried his nose in his hair, and they sat there, quietly holding each other for a while. Lauchlan listened to his breathing slowly even out, felt his muscles relax, his head droop against his shoulder, and he held him, just held him. He, hoped it was enough, though, he knew it wasn’t. It wouldn’t bring his sister back, wouldn’t undo what had been done to him, but, it was something was capable of giving him, it was _all_ he could give him.

 

As his heart ached for Corbin, the words, the damn words he had been reaching for all these weeks, came crawling up from the pit of his stomach, and gathered on the tip of his tongue. Corbin didn’t know he loved him, because hadn’t told him, but, he could. It wasn’t too late. He’d been so afraid that Corbin wouldn’t want that from him, that he would leave him, laugh at him, but now those fears seemed so ,petty. He had felt this way, for what felt like forever, but Corbin didn’t know, he mightn’t even know what that was supposed to feel like, and that thought alone hurt him to contemplate. He couldn’t, he had to say it. He had to. He bowed his head, gathered his courage. He faultered, only for a moment, and then, he let them come, and they came, filling him to the brim and spilling over and out of him.

 

“I love you,” Lauchlan whispered, nuzzling close to Corbin’s ear so he’d be sure he could hear it.

 

Corbin stiffened in his arms, but Lauchlan did not let go. The admission seared in him like a brand on his heart, there was no taking it back, no denying it now it burned on his tongue, singing his soul, and contrary to all his fears, he felt a weight lift from him. Corbin deserved this. He deserved this. The sureness of that made him feel, for the first time in years, completely sure, secure in the knowing that this was _real,_ that it was _right_.

 

“I know it’s not worth much. B-but it’s the truth. You deserve to be loved. You should’ve been loved. And, I love you, it’s yours, _I’m_ yours, for what that’s worth,” he murmured.

 

Corbin went completely tense, and to Lauchlan’s distress he began to draw away from him. Lauchlan tightened his embrace, clutching his body close to his, but Corbin recoiled from him, shoving off his lap and lading on the gravel with a crunch, pebbles scattering down the shore, plinking into the murky waters. His face was blotchy, his eyes bloodshot and shining from his tears, but his expression was twisted in anger and frustration, his shoulders tense, fists clenched. He stood up on stiff legs, looming over him forebodingly.

 

“Corbin please, please don’t do this, I mean it, I do,” Lauchlan said, quailing in Corbin’s shadow. He didn’t understand what had brought this on, but he did not like it one bit.

 

“No, you don’t get it. You don’t get it at all do you? I lied to you! I manipulated you. There was no promise, no debt, I just did the first thing I could think of to get you back in my bed. That was _it_ ,” he shouted, voice hoarse.

 

Lauchlan paled, felt his heart sink down into the pit of his gut and tremble there, but it did not break. It explained a lot of things, that did. Explained why he didn’t remember anything about the debt, explained why Corbin had been so desperate as he’d tempted him back, only to become so reluctant to actually take advantage of it when he had him.

 

“Oh,” Lauchlan said, a wordless exhale. He leaned back onto the pebbles, supporting himself on his elbows as it sunk in.

 

Corbin faultered, and something else flickering to life behind the anger in his eyes. His fists loosening, his shoulders drooping, and his lip quivered with some repressed emotion.

 

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” said Corbin, and laughed, his voice strangely tight, eyes hollow and empty, somehow both filled with emotion, and, devoid of it.

 

It did explain a lot of things, in retrospect, but it also raised a lot of questions. Because if Corbin had wanted him back in his bed so badly, why had it taken so long to get him there? How many weeks, months, had they spent doing anything but? How many hours had they wasted on backgammon, cribbage, tea and foreign sweets? Lauchlan felt the stranglehold on his heart ease as he put the pieces together. This wasn’t about him, this was about Corbin.

 

He stumbled to his feet, his legs half asleep, and gripped Corbin’s shoulder gently in one hand.

 

“Alright,” he said, and he felt a smile form on his face.

 

Corbin gaped, staring up at him like he was a thing possessed.

 

“Alright? What the hell do you mean it’s alright?” he barked.

 

“I mean that it’s alright Corbin. I understand, I do,” he said.

 

“What, but, Lauchlan I lied to you! I hit you over the head with a bloody fire poker! I could’ve bloody killed you!” he barked, his eyes wide in distress at the memory.

 

“That was an accident Corbin! I shouldn’t have muscled my way into your home in the middle of the night and expected anything other than a hostile greeting for it. You couldn’t have known! I should’ve thought about it before I went charging in, I could’ve spared us both if I’d just said something. If anything I ought to be sorry too,” he said, scratching at the nape of his neck just to do something with his hands.

 

Corbin gaped, his jaw hanging open, letting out strange, half formed words.

 

“You, you’re sorry? _You’re_ sorry? Are we having the same bloody conversation here?” he snapped, his voice rising in pitch as he became increasingly frantic.

 

“Corbin, I mean it, it’s alright. Knowing what I know now, I think I would’ve done the same thing that you did. Well, maybe not quite the same thing, but I would’ve tried at any rate,” he said, blushing bashfully.

 

Corbin went stiff, his eyes flicking between Lauchlan’s face, and his hand where it still held his shoulder, seemingly caught in indecision.

 

“What, what the bloody hell are you talking about?” he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

 

“I understand that you lied. I understand it, I do, and knowing what I know now, I think I’d do the same-”

 

“ _What?”_ Corbin squawked. Lauchlan swallowed, and continued on.

 

“I was lonely, before I met you, lonely and scared. I didn’t have anyone, like you, and I was too scared to tell anyone, about any of the things I’ve told you, too scared to feel, any of the thing’s you’ve made me feel, and you made me feel them, and know them for what they are. You, dragged me out of the loneliness, out of the fear. I like spending time with you. Even, even if it was that way, I liked it. And if you hadn’t done, what you did, I would’ve run away from that. I would be alone, still. I know what it’s like to be lonely, it‘s like, like everything you want is just out of reach, sitting in someone else’s hands. You could take it from them, if you really tried, but there’s no telling what they’d do to you when you did. They might give it to you. They might push you away. They might do any number of things, and it’s that that makes it so frightening. I couldn’t take it, I was too scared, but, you did. I don’t blame you, for reaching out. For taking it. How could I? I-if I knew then, what I know now, I would’ve done the same thing. I, I’m glad you did it Corbin, god knows one of us had to, and I was too blind to see what was being dangled in front of my face.”

 

“I love you, Corbin. It’s too late to change that now, so I suppose we’re just going to have to get used to it,” Lauchlan said, chuckling nervously. He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, all while he wrung his hands subconsciously.

 

“I, I don’t,” Corbin’s voice trailed off, and he stared up at Lauchlan for a long moment, his mouth hanging open. He snapped his jaw shut, his teeth clacking, and turned away, looking anywhere but at him.

 

“I, I understand this, this might be a bit much, right now, but, well. This, doesn’t have to change anything. I don’t want to make you feel like you have to say anything, or, do anything like that. I don’t want that, I just, I just wanted you to know that I, that someone loves you,” Lauchlan blushed, feeling ridiculously sentimental at the statement.

 

He’d imagined the confession going a number of ways, gasping it into his ear in the throes of passion, kissing him goodbye and saying it, natural as breathing, or even just blurting it out over a game of backgammon, but he’d never imagined it would be like this. Not when Corbin was so upset, not knowing what he knew now, but it felt _right_.

 

He reached out, and took Corbin into his arms, drawing him into a hug. Corbin didn’t resist it, bit his expression was still one of shock, even as he wound his arms around his waist.

 

Lauchlan ran a hand through his hair again, unsure if he’d ever be able to stop now he knew how soft it felt. He’d missed so many opportunities to do this, and now, he wanted to soak it up in case, well, just in case. Corbin was still stiff as a board, but he let himself be held all the same, his expression slack with shock.

 

“You’re supposed to be angry,” he muttered, sounding more than a little bewildered.

 

“I’m not. I don’t think I could be, really, not now,” he said.

 

“But you should be!” he snapped, looking for all the world like he really believed it.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I lied to your face you fool, why the hell aren’t you angry?” he asked, his voice tight and rasping, his hands shaking even as he held him tighter.

 

“I just told you why, Corbin,” he muttered.

 

“But you _should_ be,” Corbin said, the fight was leaking out of him, his voice trembling, but the certainty in was painful.

 

“I love you, Corbin. I promise, I’m not angry, and I’m not going to be angry later either,” Lauchlan said, softly. Maybe it would help Corbin if he was angry, it might ease his conscious a little, but he didn’t have it in him, and he couldn’t find the will to pretend.

 

“I don’t, I don’t deserve this,” he said, his voice breaking, and he shook his head to try and tensed his shoulders to try and still his trembling. He burrowed his face into his chest to hide his expression. Lauchlan’s heart ached at the sight of him so, and he lowered his head to rest ontop of Corbin’s, holding him tight.

 

“You do, believe me, you really, really do,” Lauchlan uttered, squeezing him tighter. Everyone deserved to be loved, at least once, at least by someone, and everyone deserved the chance to love in return. Lauchlan would deny Corbin that no more than he would deny himself.

 

“Lauchlan, I, I didn’t mean for it to go this far, I never thought, that this would, that you would, that it would be like this,” he said, and he shook harder now, shaking his head back and forth, his hands trembling even as he pushed away from him. Lauchlan let him go, though, he did hesitate, and Corbin stumbled backward, his knees bent, and wiped his face with his sleeve.

 

“You, do you want me to leave?” Lauchlan asked, the words sticking in his throat.

 

“No! No, I just, it was stupid of me. I knew that the moment I _said_ it. I said the first stupid, cruel, manipulative thing that popped into my head, and I couldn’t take it back. I didn’t think you’d actually _buy_ it, I swear, if I could take it back, I would in a heartbeat, you, you didn’t deserve that,” he exclaimed, he stretched out his hands and clasped them together, begging desperately.

 

“Corbin-“

 

“No, don’t _Corbin_ me. Just, listen, I never thought this would be, anything. I liked you, you were pretty and you were safe and you were a decent lay, I didn’t know you, I just liked you. I wanted, to keep you, I guess, I know it was stupid and selfish, but people like you have never looked twice at me before. I, it was good, you were good, and I didn’t want it to end yet, so I said the first stupid thing that came into my head, and then, when I knew you, it was too late to undo it and I didn’t know, what to do, and, and…” Corbin stopped and took a deep breath. “I just, I don’t know how to say it right. I’m just trying to say that, I’m _sorry_. Goddamn it, I’m so sorry. You, you of all people deserved, more than that, more than this,” he looked down at his feet, his clasped hands still shaking, and his shoulders trembled with emotion.

 

“People like me? What, what does that mean? What am I like?” Lauchlan asked, confused.

 

Corbin paused, his jaw working a little as he seemed to realise what he had said, and he looked down, crossing his arms bashfully.

 

“I mean, people who give a shit. Most people I know don’t, not beyond getting their cock in something anyway. It’s too much risk for too little reward to take the time to form _attachments._ Sometimes you find people worth a damn, but, honestly, it’s a crapshoot. I’ve never been in a position to be picky so I took what I could get. Sometimes, I had a good time, sometimes I got a pain in the arse and not much else to show for it. Most people just want to get their fill, then go back to pretending that they’re not what they are. Most of the time they don’t even want to know your name, so they can say they don’t know you. That or they’d rather pretend you were someone else. You, didn’t do that, you wanted to know me,” he muttered, shrugging lightly, and looking for all the world like he was waiting for the earth to swallow him up.

 

“Oh Corbin,” Lauchlan sighed, his chest aching. He didn’t think he’d feel any worse for Corbin, but god did he now. He had thought that The Old Bugger was just an isolated incident, a mistake, but it was worse than that, he was one of many. No wonder he had spoken about it so nonchalantly, after so long, it must’ve started to feel normal, though it couldn’t be further from the truth. Then, to top it off, Lauchlan had got his hopes up and then went and forgot all about him as soon as his head hit the pillow. He couldn’t imagine how he’d feel in that situation, but, god almighty it must’ve hurt.

 

“Stop that!” Corbin barked, puffing himself up again.

 

“What? What have I done?” Lauchlan squawked in surprise, he hadn’t expected Corbin to bounce back to his old self so abruptly.

 

“Nothing, but, you’re being all sympathetic and sweet and you’re going to hug me again, I can see it in your face,” he said, jabbing a finger at him, and then crossing and recrossing his arms agitatedly.

 

“Do you not like being hugged? I’ll stop if you don’t like it, I never meant to make you uncomfortable,” Lauchlan had to admit he had been thinking about it, but as much as he relished in the feeling of holding him, he would never force it on him.

 

Corbin looked torn for a moment, glancing away from him and back before he managed to school his expression again.

 

“That’s not the point. I had a point, I was trying to make it and you keep on, and I keep on getting off track, here,” he said, putting a hand through his hair and shaking his head.

 

“Alright,” Lauchlan said, pointedly clasping his hands together to keep them from straying.

 

Corbin blinked at him, as if expecting him to say something more, and when nothing was forthcoming, he looked away, fidgeting as he gathered his nerve.

 

“I, I didn’t mean to bring you here to tell you, _that_. It’s just, Eloise was, for a long time, she was one of a few, good, people. She wasn’t virtuous or deferential or modest or any of that shite, but, she was _good_ , she was the only good person I knew. The only good thing I had. When she, when I lost her, it, changed everything. I know that sounds like a pathetic excuse but, I thought you should know, why. I thought if I showed you, and I explained, and, if, you knew then, you would believe me when I told you I was sorry. I was ready to swear it, on her, I was, going to. I still am, I swear. She’d want me to do that, probably would have put her boot to my arse long before now. But, you, you didn’t need me to and I got a bit, distracted,” he said, shrugging weakly as his confidence tapered off. Lauchlan could sympathise with that, god knew, if something happened to Claire when he’d been young, he would have struggled to cope, and if he’d been made to struggle alone, well, he’d doubted he’d be the same either.

 

“I’m glad you told me,” he said, softly. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say. It must’ve taken a lot from Corbin to tell him that, and he felt privileged to be told it. He had spent so long wishing to be closer to him, and now, he was, though, he wished it could be under other circumstances. Still, that didn’t mean he knew what to do about it, what the right thing to say was. How the hell could he follow up that?

 

Corbin sighed, deeply, his shoulders relaxing, the tension leaking out of him. They stood there for a little while, both, unsure of what to do with each other, locked in a stalemate neither knew how to break.

 

Lauchlan pushed the toe of his boot through the pebbles, the sound of them shifting about the only thing to break the silence. Corbin turned, and looked out, over the water, his mind someplace far away, judging by his expression.

 

“Do, you think you could you ever trust me again, now, now you know?” he asked, tentatively, a few moments later. Lauchlan almost jumped at the sound, and he met Corbin’s naked gaze for only a moment before he turned back out to the water.

 

Lauchlan had to think about it for a moment, honestly, the thought of, not trusting Corbin anymore hadn’t occurred to him, though the more he dwelled on it, the more he realised that he had every reason not to. And yet, he still did. He trusted Corbin, he had always trusted Corbin, but for the life of him he couldn’t articulate why. He just, did. It felt as natural and ordinary as breathing, even now he knew that perhaps he shouldn’t have. The lie should’ve hurt more than it did, but he couldn’t scrounge up any notion of betrayal. If Corbin hadn’t lied, he wouldn’t have had Corbin, and he would have had to deal with what he’d done to Corbin alone, would have had to cope with all the _feelings_ it aroused in him without any of his help, and that alone felt, worth the price, and honestly, it wasn’t much of a price. Once he’d worked passed his initial anxieties, he’d enjoyed every minute of it. He just, couldn’t bring himself to be resentful of it, not when the lie had brought him so much good.

 

Perhaps he was soft in the head, but, he did trust him, perhaps more now than before, because when Corbin had had the opportunity to take advantage, he hadn’t. Corbin didn’t need to tell him this, Lauchlan would never have questioned it, would have never thought Corbin had been anything but honest. He would have lived the rest of his life being happily oblivious, and Corbin had everything to gain from that. But he’d told him anyway, expecting Lauchlan to be angry with him, to abandon him, even, like everyone else. His repentance spoke more of his character than the lie did, as far as Lauchlan was concerned.

 

“Could you make me a promise?” Lauchlan asked, stepping toward him to rest his hand his shoulder.

 

“After all the shite I’ve put you through? That’s the least I can do,” Corbin said, meeting his eye, his tone grave.

 

“Could we, talk more? About these sort of things. I know it’s not all happy, but, I want to know you, Corbin. That hasn’t changed,” he said softly.

 

Corbin sucked a surprised breath through his teeth, and he shuddered beneath his hand.

 

“If you’re sure that’s what you want?” he asked, his voice trembling.

 

“I’m sure Corbin,” Lauchlan said, patting him softly, afraid that too much might snap him out of this, have him shoring up his wit again. The talking had helped Lauchlan, there was so much he was afraid of people knowing, so much he was afraid to tell, but telling Corbin, it had made him feel, lighter, safer, happier, even. It helped like nothing else ever had. He hoped it would help Corbin too.

 

“Then, yes, I can promise you that, I, I will,” he said, his resolve growing, and he nodded, as if to reaffirm himself. “Do, do you think, that will help, you to, well, maybe-”

 

“Corbin, I never stopped,” Lauchlan said, cutting off his worried fussing. It hurt to watch Corbin tear himself to pieces, he couldn’t stand it.

 

Corbin’s head snapped around, and he stared at him, eyes wide as he scrutinised his face, searching him, though for what Lauchlan wasn’t sure.

 

“You’re serious,” he said, though he seemed to expect Lauchlan to be the opposite.

 

“Of course I’m serious,” he said, raising his hand to clasp his shoulder, meeting Corbin’s searching eyes, hoping that would reassure him.

 

“You, you say that like it’s so easy,” Corbin said, his voice a low, reverent hush. Lauchlan would have thought he’d just stumbled upon a unicorn from the look on his face, disbelief, hope, and wonder all jumbled together, his eyes wide and unblinking, as if Lauchlan might disappear in a puff of smoke should he look away.

 

“It is, at least for me,” Lauchlan said. It felt inadequate, but he didn’t know what else to say.

 

Corbin stared at him for a moment, still looking at him like he’d sprouted a second head. It was honestly getting a little disconcerting, but then, suddenly, Corbin grabbed him, and pulled him toward him with his arms around his middle, and buried his face in his chest again. The force of it knocked the breath out of him, but when he realised just what Corbin was doing, he held him back, just as fervently.

 

“You, you, sodding fool. I can’t, I can’t believe this, I don’t believe this. You should be angry. If someone did that to me I’d kick their arse seven ways ‘till Sunday, at the least,” he laughed, a cracked hysterical laugh, but a laugh all the same, “I don’t deserve this, I, I don’t,” he clung tighter, and trembled in his arms. Lauchlan felt something ache in him, and he rubbed a hand across Corbin’s back, wishing he could convince him that, yes, he did deserve this, but he didn’t know how. It was difficult enough to convince himself sometimes.

 

“You, you still want to, be with me, don’t you? I-if, if you don’t, it’s okay if, if you don’t. I don’t want you to-”

 

“Wait, wait! Stop! Where the hell is this coming from? Of, of course I do, why would you say that?” Corbin spluttered, pushing away from him to look up into his face, his eyes flashing.

 

“Well, you keep on trying to talk me out of it. I had to ask Corbin, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Lauchlan muttered, sheepishly.

 

“I didn’t mean that! I swear, I’m sorry. I just thought, _think_ , that you deserve better, is all,” Corbin said, his fury softening into sympathy, and he looked down again.

 

“Would, would you leave me, if, if someone better came along?” he asked, his heart in his mouth.

 

“What? No, Lauchlan, no! I’m a lot of things but I’m not that! And who the hell else would want to take me? I ain’t exactly a catch you know, you _are_ the better. I couldn’t want for any better, not in my bloody dreams, I don’t think there _is_ any better,” Corbin spluttered, indignantly and discordantly, almost shouting toward the end.

 

“See, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Why would I want better, when all I want is you? _Better_ can go hang!” he cried, his heart racing, his hands trembling with feeling, even as he clasped Corbin’s shoulders. He had waited this long to feel this way. He had waited this long for someone, anyone to give him half the chance to feel this way, he wasn’t about to give up their chance at happiness for the sake of some nebulous hypothetical _better_ , who would likely take one look at him and realise that he was too hung up on Corbin to be worth bothering with, if better existed at all. He didn’t want better. He didn’t love better. He loved Corbin.

 

“You...” Corbin stalled for a moment, mouth agape, staring at him disbelievingly “When the hell did you learn to be all bloody sneaky!” he spluttered.

 

“I've fallen in with something of a rough crowd lately. Can’t help but pick up on a few things,” Lauchlan said, blushing furiously and shrugging, hoping that the quip wasn’t too far.

 

Corbin stared, then his splutter twitched into a laugh, and he smiled, a real one, this time. It was the most beautiful thing he’d seen all day.

 

“I have been told I was a bad influence,” he said, and sighed, perhaps reminiscing, then regathered himself. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” he asked, again. His voice was soft, but, steadier now.

 

“I love you Corbin, I’m, in love with you. It doesn’t get much more serious than that,” Lauchlan said, softly. He was running out of ways to reassure him. Maybe he’d just have to keep on saying it till it sunk in.

 

Corbin shuddered, and looked up at him, his eyes wide, and vulnerable. The fight had gone out of him, and left him, open.

 

“Not everyone is as forgiving as you, not everyone is capable of it,” Corbin said, his voice rasping and halting, burdened by guilt. Lauchlan sighed, and raised a hand to cup the back of his head, cradling him close again. He couldn’t be sure, but, he had an inkling that Corbin would be holding this blame for a while. He hoped he could forgive himself eventually.

 

“I know,” Lauchlan said, and sighed, deeply. “I can hardly blame them for that, they might have a rather good reason, after all,” he added.

 

“And this is why I don’t deserve this,” Corbin sighed, but his posture loosened at last, and he slumped bodily into his hold, his arms warm and strong around Lauchlan’s waist, holding him in return.

 

“If that’s how you feel, then, then don’t just, don’t just stew on it. Pay me back,” Lauchlan said, impulsively, though he regretted it as soon as it left his mouth, blushing bright red. God, could he get any cockier?

 

“In, what? Sexual favours?” Corbin asked, raising an eyebrow at him, his smile stretching in to a teasing grin that made Lauchlan’s heart flutter.

 

Lauchlan laughed, freely, his cheeks hot, and the weight clutching around his heart releasing him at last.

 

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” he chuckled. “But, really, I’d just like, to spend time with you. You, you make me happy, Corbin, that’s all it comes down to,” he muttered, shrugging meekly.

 

“Even, after everything?” Corbin asked, softly.

 

“Especially after everything,” Lauchlan said, and squeezed him reassuringly.

 

Corbin went quiet, but the smile lingered, growing even in the silence.

 

“What in the bloody hells did I do to deserve this?” he barked a moment later, thoroughly ruining the moment. Lauchlan couldn’t help but laugh.

 

“How many times do I have to tell you till it sinks in?” Lauchlan asked. Corbin shrugged, elbowing him a little in the process.

 

“I don’t know, as many as it takes for me to wrap my head around it,” he laughed, shaking his head at him.

“What does it matter, anyway? You’ve got it regardless. All you have to do is get used to it,” Lauchlan said, and on an impulse, he started ruffling his hair.

 

Corbin spluttered, then laughed, and he raised his left hand to try and batter Lauchlan’s hand away from him, but the other was still wound around him, holding him like a lifeline, and Lauchlan was holding him in return. Corbin wriggled, trying to escape, but with neither of them willing to let go of the other, they just twisted and turned around in circles, a parody of a waltz, their knees knocking together, and they stepped on eachothers toes more than a few times, both of them giggling helplessly like schoolgirls.

 

“Goddamn it Lauchlan! Enough, enough! You win!” he spluttered, and Lauchlan teased him a moment more before he relented, and held him happily, resting his chin on his crown, and breathing in the scent of him.

 

Corbin took a moment to catch his breath, then scoffed and he pushed Lauchlan off him with a strong nudge of his head. He stepped back, and though Lauchlan was sad to let go, he found he didn’t mind much, the sight of Corbin so dishevelled made him chuckle, though he wasn’t sure what was so funny about it. Corbin straightened himself out a bit, tugging at his sleeves and the hem of his coat, and running a hand through his tangled curls. His hair was a lost cause, though to be honest, it didn’t look that much different than usual anyway.

 

“It might, take me a little while to get used to this,” Corbin said, and shrugged a little, his smile was small, but hopeful and utterly infectious.

 

“That’s fine. I’m in no hurry,” Lauchlan said, returning the smile, and Corbin’s smile spread wider.

 

They stared at each other, for a moment, and Lauchlan could practically taste the relief in the air. Corbin smiled at him, gently, genuinely, finally looking like himself again, but, lighter now. It was a welcome change, after the past few days. Not knowing what else to say, Lauchlan glanced out over the river, pushing the toe of his boot through the pebbles again, just to do something. If he looked into Corbin’s smiling eyes for too long he’d do something foolish and embarrass himself.

 

Corbin caught his cheek, in his hand, his fingers rough, but he was gentle as he eased him around to look at him again. Lauchlan’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. Corbin stepped close, and leaned upward, his expression soft and warm, his brown eyes fathomless. Lauchlan waited, for him to say something, do something, he didn’t know what, but the tension was palpable and he didn’t dare break it. Corbin looked up at him, expectantly for a moment, then, with an exasperated huff he hooked two fingers in his collar and tugged him down to meet him.

 

Lauchlan gasped, wobbling at the knees a little as he stooped down, and Corbin pulled him into a gentle kiss. It was a chaste thing, but, the warmth of it filled him to bursting, and left him breathless and giddy long after it broke.

 

“You are impossibly tall. It’s not fair, not fair at all,” Corbin muttered, prodding him gently as he rocked back onto his heels. Lauchlan knew he shouldn’t laugh, but be couldn’t help himself, and Corbin huffed and crossed his arms.

 

“Sure, laugh at my misfortune. I’m used to it,” he deadpanned, and Lauchlan laughed even harder.

 

“I could get you a step stool, if you think that’d help,” he offered, wheezing between chuckles, and Corbin recoiled in mock affront.

 

“A _step_ _stool_ , he offers me. Will a stool keep you from being so damn oblivious? I couldn’t send up anymore cues if I tried,” he grumbled, though at least half in jest.

 

“Probably not. Perhaps could try writing a sign instead? Maybe put an advert in the classifieds? Or you could just, you know, say something,” Lauchlan said, chuckling.

 

“Oh now he gets smug on me, taking the spontaneity out of everything with all this talking sense,” he rolled his eyes and shook his head, but Lauchlan could tell his eyes were laughing.

 

“What can I say, Corbin? I’m a tad dull that way,” Lauchlan said, and shrugged.

 

“Gah, you’re lucky I like that about you,” he said, shaking his head gravely, “Come on, we’ve lingered here long enough, we should get you home,” he said, shaking his head on final time, and gentling taking hold of his elbow as they turned back toward the street.

 

They could not help but sober, as they returned to the graveyard, but they had to walk through it to return to the street, so it was unavoidable. Corbin stopped, as they passed by Eloise’s marker. Corbin looked at it, melancholy written across his face.

 

“She’d like you, I think,” he said, abruptly.

 

“Oh, well, I’m glad,” Lauchlan said, honestly flattered by the reassurance.

 

“Oh, you wouldn’t be, if you knew her. She was a right shit stirrer, she was, loved making trouble. Once she found a sore spot someplace she’d poke and poke at it till it drove you crazy. I swear she had a death wish sometimes, with all the trouble she got into for that. She’d have the time of her life with you. You blush like a maiden aunt,” he said, he laughed, and nudged him, a bittersweet smile on his face.

 

“Oh, so she’s just like you then?” Lauchlan quipped nudging him back, and gave his hand a quick squeeze in the process.

 

Corbin startled at that, staring up at him with wide eyes, then barked out a bright peel of laughter, looking honestly pleased at the comparison.

 

“I sure hope so,” he muttered, so low Lauchlan almost didn’t catch it. He didn’t comment on it, either way.

 

“I should, visit more often, tell her what’s been going on,” he said, resolve in the set of his shoulders. “But enough of this, we should find you a cab somewhere, I’ve kept you long enough with all, _this,”_ he waved around, a funny gesture that seemed to include himself as well as, well, everything else around them.

 

“Corbin, I’m glad you shared this with me. It, means a lot,” Lauchlan said, softly, feeling strangely fearful of disturbing the silence of the place, as if the dead would care.

 

Corbin blinked hard, his speech faltering for a moment, and Lauchlan waited, patiently, for him to gather his thoughts.

 

“Me too,” he whispered.

 

“I’ll see you again, soon, won’t I?” Lauchlan asked.

 

“I’ll come round every day, at least for the next week or so, to help you clean it, that’s the least I can do,” he said, finding his resolve again.

 

“And, after that?” Lauchlan asked, hanging baited breath.

 

“I guess, we’ll work that out as we go. Things might change, but, I’ll try my best to make Sundays. I’ve grown rather attached to our little meetings as they are, so, for as long as I’m welcome, I guess, I’ll try to come round” he said, his smile small and fragile, but real, and he looked up at him, hope in his eyes.

 

“I’d love that. You’re welcome any time,” Lauchlan said, his

 

“Thank you, for, everything,” Corbin said, and he sounded small then, lost, but so achingly sincere.

 

“The pleasure was mine,” Lauchlan said, and Corbin huffed in laughter.

 

“Course it was,” he chirped, grinning cheekily, and Lauchlan couldn’t help but splutter along, his cheeks heating up in memory.

 

Corbin escorted him back to the main road again, and after a while, they managed to flag down a brave cab, to take him home. Lauchlan wished he could kiss him goodbye. Like before. When he looked at him, Corbin met his eye, and there was a warmth there, indescribable, unfathomable, and his heart thudded. It spoke far louder than words could, and Lauchlan realised that Corbin wished the same thing he did.

 

He waved, and Corbin did the same, a nip of pink in his cheeks, perhaps from the cold, perhaps not, and stood there watching him as he and his cab rattled and shuddered its way out of Coalford. He didn’t turn away, not even when the cab rolled round the corner and he lost sight of him.

 

 

“You take a tumble there lad?” asked the cabbie, his hunger for gossip palpable.

 

“Oh? Oh, yes. I had a bit of an accident,” Lauchlan stuttered, doing his best to sound noncommittal. He shrugged, then grew embarrassed when he realised that the cabbie couldn’t see him shrugging. He’d been so lost to his own musings that the Cabbie caught him off guard, let alone being called lad. He hadn’t been called that since he’d been, well, a lad.

 

“Mhmm, lot of accidents happen round here you know. The whole place is falling to bits. You’re lucky you found someone to patch you up round here, you know. Most would nick your coat and boots first at the very least,” he barked, his voice cutting through the clatter of the hoof beats and the rattle of the hansom.

 

“Yes, I am, at that. He’s a good friend of mine,” he said, blushing a little at the omission.

 

“I’ll say. You be sure to hold on to that one, lad. Friends like that are a rare breed,” he said, sagely.

 

“Oh, I have every intention to,” Lauchlan said, spluttering and blushing, fretting that somehow he’d given himself away. But the cabbie just grunted affably, and shook the reigns, urging the horse onward.

 

“Good lad,” he said, and the conversation petered off. No doubt he just wanted to get his daily dispensation of elderly wisdom out of the way early.

 

When he arrived at home, Mrs Shier rushed out to fuss over him, Theresa dogging at her heels, and he was whisked into their home before his hells met the flagstones. They fussed and doted on him, sitting him down and serving him black tea and ginger digestives. Vagabond appeared from somewhere, happy to see him if only because he offered a buffer between her and Theresa, as she still held a grudge from when she’d shut her in the picnic basket. He left, well fed and watered and with a few new scratches from Vagabond. She hadn’t forgiven him for leaving her with Theresa, but seemed not to want to let him out of her sight all the same, she shadowed him all night, lurking under furniture and peeking round doorways. The next morning, he arrived at work to find that he hadn’t been given the sack, nor was there some terrible reprimand waiting for him on his desk, or in the post. He got a number of odd looks with his head bandaged up, some sympathetic and some curious, the odd few fearful, though they seemed to ease with time. After a word with his replacement, things just, returned to normal.

 

He had difficulty comprehending it. Just days before his life as he’d known it had been held up by the ankles and shaken half to death, and now, everything was back to normal. He’d had an actual conversation about Corbin, he’d danced around the truth, and the police hadn’t sprung out from the woodwork to haul him off to the asylum. He’d missed a few days of work, but not ended up back on the streets. He’d taken a knock to the head, but, this afternoon Corbin was going to come and tend to it, and make it better.

 

He’d told Corbin he loved him, and he hadn’t run away.

 

He rested his chin on his hand, rubbing his sore head. This was his normal now. There would be a little bit more danger in it, certainly, but there would also be Corbin.

 

They really would be alright, going through this. Living like this. It was hard to wrap his head around, but, this was his new normal.

 

He could get used to this.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to open this up with an apology. This chapter is long overdue, I promised it would be coming soon almost a year ago now, and while I’d made that statement in good faith, I’m not proud of breaking that promise, especially with all of the lovely comments I’ve received in the intermission. Writers block can be blamed for a small part of that, I couldn’t decide if I wanted an epilogue or not, and it was attached and unattached over and over as I ummed and arred, and I went through a few different permutations. I told myself I didn’t want to post the chapter until I was sure of the ending. But at the end of the day, I guess I wasn’t ready for this to be done. It’s been part of my life for six years now, and it’s tied up in memories and friends and things I did throughout all that time, whether I was conscious of it or not. I’d never made anything like this before, and, on some level I guess I just wasn’t ready to put this last chapter out and put an end to it. And that’s what this is, the end. It’s done. It’s a bit of an anticlimactic ending, I suppose, I keep on reading it over and over and wondering if this really should be. I’m not sure how much of that is my fic-seperation anxiety talking, it’s probably at least partially that, but, this is it, the end. Time to let go. I’m not sure how to feel about it honestly. I just hope you all like it, and that it was worth the ride. 
> 
> Thankyou so much for coming along with me on this journey, I’ve learned so much from this and I loved writing it, and I’m just so happy that there are people out there who’ve loved it too. Thankyou so much for supporting me over the years, even though I’m really bad at answering messages in a timely fashion, and not very good at ending things.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [MBWLAYWGS: Alternate Universes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5840113) by [LockedBox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LockedBox/pseuds/LockedBox)




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